


i took the stars from our eyes and then i made a map

by teamcap



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Ferris Wheels, Gnomes, Iowa, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Road Trips, Stupid Boys, girls who can and should kick their asses, gratuitous use of pop culture references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 23:06:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17538047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamcap/pseuds/teamcap
Summary: “This - I mean, this is seriously probably your worst idea. Ever.” Bucky grins.“So you’ll go?” Sam glances between them, and looks at the map they handed him, marked to hell with red sharpie and little arrows pointing at all their future stops, and then back up.“Yeah, I’ll go. But when something goes horribly wrong you can’t put any of the blame on me,” he says, and Steve smiles.“Deal,” Bucky says. “Oh, there is one other thing. Can we use your car?”orSteve, Sam, and Bucky go on a road trip, and it goes just about as well as you would expect.





	i took the stars from our eyes and then i made a map

**Author's Note:**

> hi! okay, so this fic actually should have been finished months ago but i don't follow plans i've set and now i have this 26k monster to give you all. it's filled with love (from me) and knowledge of a very odd selection of the united states (from google and other people who helped me get this done)
> 
> the biggest thanks in the whole world to [robin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojenstarked/profile) because this fic literally would not exist without her and she let me bounce ideas off of her for months and didn't think i was nuts when i said i wanted them to go visit the world's largest gnome
> 
> this fic has a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/julielouise16/playlist/5F8GXurduSfK4rmFKPqvMc?si=pTpYeguPRf6RqggU8PujDw) of songs they listen to on the trip and a [pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/ceriseroses/story-i-took-the-stars-from-our-eyes-and-then-i-ma/) if you're interested in that kinda stuff
> 
> finally, full disclosure: the only place in this entire fic i've been to is dollywood. i did my very best with everything else. if you are a fan of deep dish pizza i'm sorry and if you live in iowa let me know if you've been to the places i mentioned because i'm kind of obsessed with them now
> 
> okay, that's all i've got. enjoy!!

Bucky makes the map for the road trip when they’re fourteen, sitting in his too-small bedroom in his mom’s Brooklyn apartment. Steve is across from him, sitting cross-legged on the floor and sporting a split lip and a bag of frozen peas over his blackening right eye. He looks at what Bucky is doing out of his left, watching as he makes and erases marks over the right half of the map.

“Iowa?” Steve asks. “What’s in Iowa?”

“Dunno,” Bucky says, tapping his pencil against his lip. “Probably nothing. But you never know where we’ll find something cool.” Steve wrinkles his nose at the thought of there being anything cool in Iowa and then winces because, oh, yeah, he got punched in the face. “If you stop trying to take down the guys who are so much bigger than you maybe you’ll stop getting hit and bleeding on my carpet, Stevie.”

“I don’t care about getting hit,” Steve says. “Or about your carpet.”

“I know. Mom keeps an extra bag of peas in the freezer for you.”

“I know.” Steve takes the bag down and looks Bucky dead in the face. “How bad is it?” Bucky shrugs,

“I’ve seen worse. Like last year when that guy hit you so hard he knocked you out and you hit your head and had to get stitches.” Steve grins and Bucky shakes his head at him.

“So,” Steve says, moving the bag back over his eye. “Iowa?”

They spend hours planning it out to a tee, every state and tourist attraction that they’ll look at together one day, and Steve walks home with a half numb face and warmth in his chest, and that’s how it all starts.

-

The sun is shining warm honey on Steve’s face, and he loves it. He’s always felt better in the warmer months, less coughing and shaky breathing. He’s sitting on a bench in the park across the street from his apartment building and tapping a pencil absentmindedly on the sketchbook on his lap. Looking around, he finally decides on the mother pushing her little girl on the swings and flips to an empty page to start the lines. It’s a little rough at first because he doesn’t draw nearly as much as he used to - he spends most of his days at the museum he works at and his down time with Bucky and Sam. But he loves drawing. He loves the pen on paper, capturing moments forever. It also keeps him from thinking too much; a nice distraction from how loud things could get, especially when he’s panicking. He stays there for a long time, hardly glancing up from the pages. When he finally does, the park is almost empty and the sun is low, so he gathers his stuff and goes up to his apartment.

Bucky is sitting on the couch, elbow-deep in a bag of chips with The Breakfast Club playing on the TV.

“Oh, thank God,” Sam says from the other room. “Please make him turn this off. He’s about to start quoting it.” Steve laughs,

“Sorry, Sam, stronger men than me have tried. No one can make him turn off this movie.”

“Not even Steve,” Bucky says through a mouthful of chips.

“That’s disgusting. Your mom didn’t raise you to have no manners,” Steve scolds.

“Did your mom marry mister Rogers?” Bucky asks, same time and tone as Judd Nelson.

“I mean, yeah,” Steve says. “Did you not make that connection before, college graduate?”

“Smart ass,” Bucky says.

“Thanks. My ass appreciates it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bucky mumbles through more chips. “You’re such a pain.”

“You’re both pains,” Sam says, sitting on the other end of the couch. “And my reward for  putting up with it is that I get to pick the movie.” Steve watches as he tries to snatch the remote away from Bucky, who leaps off the couch and out of Sam’s reach. He’s distracted enough from still trying to watch the movie that Steve manages to grab the remote and toss it to Sam.

“Traitor,” Bucky calls when Sam pauses it. “How could you?” Steve grins back at him and sits in the middle of the couch.

“Pick something good,” he says to Sam.

“Every movie I watch is good.”

“Oh, no,” Bucky says. “I am _not_ watching any of the chick flicks you guys like so much.”

“Uptown Girls isn’t a chick flick,” Steve says.

“I don’t watch chick flicks,” Sam insists, flipping absentmindedly through Netflix’s comedy section.

“Love, Actually is your favorite movie,” Bucky counters.

“That’s a Christmas movie, man.”

“Technicalities,” Bucky says. “It’s still kind of a chick flick.”

“Well, Buck, if you aren’t gonna watch then at least make yourself useful and get us some popcorn,” Steve says. Bucky grabs a pillow and throws it in Steve’s general direction. Steve throws it back, and Bucky throws it at Sam, who throws the remote in retaliation.

Sam is the ultimate winner of their impromptu pillow fight, and in the chaos they forget about watching a movie entirely.

-

At the end of the week, Bucky gets home from work and corrals Steve and Sam into the living room, because something has him so excited that he’s practically vibrating.

“Woah, man,” Sam says, stretching out in his chair. “Tell us before your batteries die.” Steve grins.

“Okay,” Bucky says, and he sounds like he did when he invited Steve to live with him after his mom died - like he’s never said anything more important. Steve pulls his legs against his chest and looks at Bucky expectantly. “So, I never told you guys, but back around December I applied for an internship with this architecture firm. I never heard anything back so I assumed, y’know, they weren’t interested. Well, last week they called and asked if I could submit a portfolio, so I did. And then today one of the guys called me back, and he offered it to me.” Steve grins again. He still remembers how something just seemed to fall into place when Bucky made a random decision to major in architecture, how it filled a little hole in Bucky that they never even knew was there.           

“Buck,” he says sincerely. “That’s incredible.”          

“Yeah, man,” Sam agrees. “What firm is it?” Bucky’s expression changes, and he swallows thickly.          

“Well,” he begins. “It’s - it’s an international firm. They want to put me in one of their European offices.”        

For a second, Steve thinks he’s going to pass out. It feels like someone has ripped the floor right out from underneath him and now he’s falling into - something. His hand twitches, yearns for a pencil. He tunes back into the conversation in time to hear Sam say “-where in Europe?           

“Not sure yet. I haven’t officially accepted the offer. I really wanted to talk to you guys about it first.” He looks at Steve like he’s waiting for him to say something. Steve, however, has momentarily forgotten how to form any words.           

“What about it?” Sam asks, because he has his shit together and knows how to have solid conversations.          

“It would span about two years. I wanted to talk to you guys about the apartment because, I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to keep my room for me. If you wanted to use it for storage or - or rent it out, or whatever.”          

This sends Steve into a completely panicked state and he feels like he _has_ to talk or he might _die._            

“Your room is always gonna be for you,” he manages to say. Bucky is looking at him with a completely unreadable expression, and Steve thinks it would be so nice if the ground would open up and swallow him whole right now so he never had to look at another person again. Especially Bucky.          

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Thanks.”           

“This is a really good opportunity, man. I really think you should take it.” Sam says. If Steve was able to think clearly or speak or move, he would probably punch Sam. Not hard, not in the face, because Sam is right - it’s incredible, and Bucky _should_ take it - but enough to hurt a little because Steve doesn’t want to hear that.           

“I’m - I’m really thinking about it.” Bucky is still looking at Steve, who is about to explode under his gaze. He stands up so fast he nearly falls, and then blurts out,           

“I’m gonna go to bed. I’m - I don’t feel well. Congratulations, Buck.”           

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks. Steve holds his hand out to stop him when he looks like he might stand and follow.           

“I’ll be fine, swear.”          

“Okay. Night, punk.” Bucky says, in clear disbelief and trying to regain some of the normalcy lost in the last five minutes of their lives. Steve walks to his room and shuts the door, slides down the back of it onto the rough carpet. He’s gotten better at controlling his panic attacks since his mom died, which is good, because he would definitely be having the worst one ever right now.          

Because the thing is, Bucky is his best friend. His best friend who he met before he can even remember, who has been there for every scraped knee and black eye and fight with someone so much bigger than him. Who has fought for him when Steve had ‘em on the ropes - which, he never did, but Bucky never said anything about it. His best friend who has been with him on every rollercoaster and snuck into R rated movies with him and let him move in after his mom died. Who, despite everything, has always been there.           

Because the thing is, Steve doesn’t know how to exist without Bucky. He tried, after they graduated high school and Bucky left Brooklyn to go to college and it felt like a lifetime away even though it was just a thirty five minute drive in Steve’s shitty secondhand car. He tried, and he managed - went to school, met Sam, dated a few people. He survived through the constant feeling that he couldn’t catch his breath even though he hadn’t had an asthma attack since eighth grade, the feeling that went away after he and Bucky and Sam decided to rent an apartment together between their schools.          

Because the thing is, Steve knows, Bucky is home.          

It’s something he’s known for a long time - since they were ten and Bucky carried him home piggy back style after Steve got his first black eye. Bucky gave him a bag of frozen peas and they sat in the floor and played Mario Kart for hours and Steve didn’t feel like he had been hit at all. Since before that, and after that, and maybe since the very first time they met.          

Steve doesn’t get much sleep that night.           

The next morning, Bucky is already at work when Steve walks into the kitchen. Sam is sitting at the table on his phone. He looks up when Steve walks in.           

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he smiles, then gestures to the plate of eggs and bacon sitting on the table. Steve groans,         

“Ugh. You sound like Bucky.”           

“Ouch. You really know how to hit a man where it hurts. If you could never say that to me again, I would really appreciate it.” Steve rolls his eyes and picks up the newspaper sitting on the table, and Sam whistles. “You should go down to the nursing home, you and the patients have all the same interests.”           

“I think you’re going into the wrong field,” Steve says. “Aren’t therapists supposed to be comforting?”          

“I gotta state the hard truths, man. It’s in the job description.” They finish breakfast in silence and Steve is halfway to the bathroom to get ready for work when Sam says, “Hey, listen. It might not be any of my business, but Bucky didn’t seem like himself last night after you went to bed. I know that ‘two years living in another country’ isn’t the news you wanted, but it’s what you got. He’s probably gonna take it and I think it would be a mistake to let him go through something this big alone. Just - you should talk to him, Steve."           

“You’re right, it isn’t your business. Thank you,” Steve says. Sam grins back,           

“Just know that this is the extent of my advice. I’m not playing therapist for you and Bob the builder.”           

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Steve says. He has a terribly uneventful day at the museum, and gets back to the apartment carrying a bag of Thai food at seven. Sam isn’t home, which he’s kind of grateful for.           

“Well, if it isn’t the tour guide extraordinaire himself,” Bucky says when Steve walks in. “How was work?”          

“Boring. You?"           

“Average,” Bucky says, which is disappointing. He manages the same bargain retail store he’s worked at since he started college, and sometimes he has fun and terrible stories about customers preaching in the store or using the fitting rooms as bathrooms. “Got any food for me?”          

“Freeloader,” Steve calls from the kitchen, dumping their dinner onto plates. “Of course I do.”          

“Stevie, what would I do without you?"           

“Starve to death,” Steve deadpans, handing Bucky a plate and sitting on the other end of the couch. They eat in companionable silence and half watch the reality show playing on the TV. Steve is genuinely considering bringing up the internship when Sam walks in the door.           

“Well,” he says, taking in the reality show and the empty plates sitting on the coffee table. “Aren’t we all just party animals?”          

“C’mon, you know I have a very important business to run in the morning. Can’t get too wild,” Bucky says. “And, of course, Steve has to show groups of tourists all wearing the same outfit a lot of big paintings that make people sad.”           

“Fair enough, but I bought beer and I’m expecting you guys to drink it with me so I can forget about my job for the next several hours.” And so, the three of them get almost-drunk on cheap grocery store beer and watch bad reality tv, and Steve almost forgets about the internship. Two days later, Bucky tells them that he decided to take it. Sam congratulates him and Steve tells him that he’s happy for him and he doesn’t throw up even though he feels like he might.

-       

On Thursdays, they eat dinner with Sharon and Natasha, the couple who live two floors up. They have a mean cat named Francis and Steve is pretty sure either of them could kick all three of their asses if they wanted to.           

It started the week after they moved in, when Bucky excitedly told Steve and Sam he found a recipe on pinterest that he wanted to try. He caught their kitchen on fire, and after the fire department told them it was safe to re-enter the building, Sharon invited them over to eat something “pretty good, and not burned into dust”. Now, Steve thinks, it’s a good way for them to catch up, since they all have jobs and somewhat busy schedules. Besides that, Sharon and Nat both have their shit together, and so does Sam, and they’re adults who go out and do responsible adult things. And, well - Steve and Bucky are Steve and Bucky, who are kind of good at pretending that they’re adults who have their shit together.          

(“No you aren’t,” he can hear Nat say in his head. “But that’s what we’re here for.”)          

It’s halfway through Sharon telling a story about Tony, her terrible boss, that Bucky gets a look on his face like he just remembered something important. He’s nothing if not a gentleman, though, so he waits for her to finish before he says, “So. I have some news.”          

Steve had spent the whole day praying to whatever forces could hear him that this wouldn’t come up. He likes to think he’s done a pretty damn good job of _not_ freaking out about the whole thing for the past few days considering that he nearly passed out the first time Bucky mentioned it. It’s gotten a little easier since he decided he just wasn’t going to think about it and forced it to the very back of his brain. He’s only remembered it a couple of times since the night they got kind of drunk - once at work, and once while he was cooking dinner, and a few times when he was trying to go to sleep. Annoying, persistent, but possible to ignore - like a computer telling him it needs to be updated. Ding, updates are ready. Ding, your best friend is moving to Europe at the end of this summer and he doesn’t know - Steve doesn’t know _what_ Bucky doesn’t know, but he certainly wishes it would stop nagging at his brain when he’s trying to ignore important life events.         

The point is, he has been trying very hard to not think about the internship, and now he has to. Steve thinks if he could see an official chart of Things That Make Steven G. Rogers an Adult, listening to Bucky talk about moving to Europe without having a panic attack would be one of them.

Nat and Sharon, ever the attentive listeners, look at Bucky expectantly.           

“I’ve been talking to this architecture firm for a while about the possibility of interning with them. It seemed like it would be pretty far off, but they called me last week and offered me a paid internship in Europe. Two years, starting in August. I called them yesterday and told them I’ll take it.” Sharon beams at him,           

“That’s amazing, Bucky.”           

“Congratulations, Barnes,” Nat says smoothly. “I loved Europe when I studied there. Tell me more about it later, yeah?” Bucky nods and smiles at them, big and bright. Steve thinks he might throw up for real, right in the middle of Nat and Sharon’s living room. And Sam, God bless him, Steve thinks, changes the subject to tell them about the online summer classes he’s looking at to kickstart work on his master’s.           

After dinner Steve volunteers himself to help Sharon with the dishes so he doesn’t have to listen to Nat and Bucky talking about the internship. And Sharon, to her credit, doesn’t say anything right away even though Steve can tell she’s itching to ask him something. He raises his eyebrows at her after the fourth time she looks at him.          

“Are you upset that he’s taking the internship?” She asks. Steve doesn’t look up from the plate he’s drying.           

“I’m happy for him,” he says carefully. Sharon looks at him pointedly.           

“That’s not what I asked. You can be happy for him and be upset at the same time.”           

“I don’t see that I have any right to be upset,” Steve says.          

“Peggy is so much better at this kind of stuff than I am,” Sharon mutters, and Steve remembers that her sister is a counselor. Sharon turns and faces him fully. “First of all, you’ve been drying the same plate for five minutes.” She takes it gently and puts it on the counter, then crosses her arms over her chest.          

“Sorry.”          

“Don’t apologize,” she says. “Look, Steve, you can be upset, you - he’s your best friend. I don’t totally understand your relationship, I guess -,”          

“He’s my best friend,” Steve repeats, confused. His whole face is warm, and he looks away from Sharon.          

“Right,” she says. “I’m just saying. Think about how you feel and talk to him about it before he leaves. He’ll understand, I think. Whatever you say. He’ll understand.”          

“Sam told me the same thing. Well - not exactly, but kind of. That I need to talk to him."           

“Listen to me and Sam,” Sharon says. “We know what we’re talking about.” Steve thinks that’s probably true. They finish washing the dishes in silence and make their way back to the other room, where Sam and Nat are very clearly teaming up to kick Bucky’s ass at scrabble.           

“Stevie,” Bucky calls. “I need you. Help me win.” He’s obviously tipsy on wine and Steve shakes his head and sits on the floor next to him. He makes the word love, and Sharon, who has dutifully joined Sam and Nat, uses the O and an S already in place - stupid, Bucky’s word, probably - to make obvious. She spends the rest of the night looking at Steve like she knows something he doesn’t, and he thinks that’s probably true, too.           

He and Bucky do win the game, because Steve is fantastic at scrabble, and when they look at the clock and see it’s nearly three in the morning, Nat tells them just to crash there. Sam takes the couch - mostly because Francis has chosen his lap as a prime napping location - and Steve and Bucky head into the guest room.          

“Thanks, Stevie,” Bucky says. He pulls his hair out of the bun on the back of his head and he’s obviously more than a _little_ tipsy because if he were sober he’d make a comment about Steve staring at him. So Steve looks away, takes off his glasses and pushes his jeans off.          

“For?” He asks. He climbs under the thick duvet on the bed, facing Bucky, who leans around and turns off the table lamp. Steve is grateful - some things are easier to say in the dark.           

“Scrabble,” Bucky yawns. “I was really gettin’ my ass handed to me. I needed you to win and you helped me out. Because you’re a great friend.”           

“Well, you’re right. I am pretty great,” Steve says. His face is red, he can feel it.           

“Okay, don’t flatter yourself,” Bucky says back, and it sounds close enough to sober Bucky that Steve’s heart skips a beat in his chest. They stay in silence for a minute after that and then, so quietly that Steve barely hears it, Bucky says, “I always do. Need you.”           

“Go to sleep, Buck,” Steve says, because it’s easier than anything else. He closes his eyes and thinks that maybe, if there is a merciful God, Bucky won’t remember this later.

-           

Friday afternoon comes with Sam telling them that he’s vacating the apartment for the weekend to go visit his parents and he won’t be back until Monday. On his way out the door he gives Steve a look that reads something like ‘if you haven’t talked to Bucky by the time I get back I’m seriously going to hurt you’.           

The thing is - Steve _wants_ to talk to Bucky. He’s just maybe not the best at expressing his feelings in words. It’s why he loves art so much; all the same feelings and no one has to say anything. Unfortunately, he can’t quite figure out how to paint the fact that Bucky is the most important person in the world to him and he doesn’t want him to move to Europe, and even if he could, that isn’t the hard part.           

He doesn’t know _why_ he doesn’t want Bucky to move to Europe. Once he got past the initial shock and distress of the news, he tried to figure it out in the best way he knew how: he made a list. All the obvious reasons he doesn’t want Bucky to move, written down in his chicken scratch handwriting. Number one, _he’s my best friend._ Number two, _we’ve known each other since we were five and it will be weird not having him here._ Number three, _I’ll miss that pain in the ass._ Number four, _he might make a better best friend in Europe and forget about me._            

Exactly thirty-two reasons and Steve still feels like he’s missing a big one, a neon-flashing-sign reason that he feels like he’s trapped underwater when Bucky mentions Europe. He thinks it might just be better if he comes to terms with feeling like that for the rest of his life.           

When Bucky gets home from work that night, Steve tries. He musters up all his courage and tries to tell Bucky that he’s happy for him. That he’s happy but he’s sad and confused and scared and maybe everything in between, too. It comes out like, “there’s leftovers in the fridge, do you want to watch a movie?”           

On Saturday, Steve tries over dinner - pizza from the little place around the corner. This time he tries to say that he’s happy for him even though he’s going to miss him, even though sometimes he feels like there is something beating in his chest and his stomach and his head and he doesn’t know why, like _something_ is trying to get out. This time, it comes out like, “there’s a fair next weekend if you want to go, y’know, like when we were kids.”          

Sunday brings them to an art festival in Brooklyn that they spend most of the day at, and then to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with bad drinks but incredible sandwiches, much to Bucky’s delight. It’s nearing midnight when they get back home and Bucky immediately goes to his room and collapses onto his bed. Steve stops by his door on the way to his own room and, stomach full and slightly sleep deprived, finds it in him to say,           

“I’m happy for you.”           

“Hm?” Bucky hums, and moves so he’s facing the doorway. Steve swallows.          

“Europe,” he says, and he doesn’t choke up about it. “I’m happy for you. Really. I know I - the night you told us, I know I kind of freaked out. It was just sudden. Caught me off guard. But you’ve worked so hard to get here, Buck, and I’m really happy for you.” Bucky takes all this in for a moment, and then grins.           

“Thanks, Stevie. That means a lot. Really,” he says. “And you know what? I might miss you a little, punk.”           

“I’d be offended if you didn’t. I am pretty great, after all.”           

“Okay, I changed my mind, actually. I won’t miss you at all.” Steve grins.           

“Yeah, you will.”           

“Yeah?” Bucky asks. “How do you know that?”          

“Because I’m gonna miss you, jerk,” Steve says. “Night.”          

“Night, Stevie.” Steve hasn’t quite left the doorway when Bucky clears his throat and says, “Hey, Steve.” He turns around and raises his eyebrows. Bucky looks almost nervous, which is so rare for him that Steve has kind of forgotten what it looks like. “Sleep in here tonight.”           

“Why?” Steve asks, slightly caught off guard. Not that it’s a particularly strange request - they’ve shared a bed more times than either of them could count - it’s just out of nowhere.           

“I dunno,” Bucky says. “I’m leaving in a few months and nothing over there is gonna be comfortable, not for a while. I just wanna have stuff like this while I can, y’know?” Steve considers this for a moment, then says,           

“Yeah, okay.” He walks inside and over to the other side of the bed, pushes off his jeans and climbs in, and it isn’t really weird.           

Well, okay, a little weird, in the sense that they’re two grown-ass men who aren’t in any kind of relationship and they’re sharing a bed like they’re ten years old sleeping at each other’s houses. But it isn’t weird because they’re Steve and Bucky, Steveandbucky, this is what they do.           

“Sam would be giving us so much shit if he were here right now,” Bucky says, and Steve laughs. He thinks about maybe saying something about how, okay, this _is_ a little weird, and then Bucky turns out the light and Steve is so tired from walking and talking and thinking that he can’t form a good sentence before he falls asleep, maybe a little too close. Maybe not.           

Steve is woken up the next day by thick paper landing directly on his face.           

“Wh?”           

“Very eloquent,” Bucky says in response. Steve pushes the paper off of himself and flips over onto his other side. “C’mon, sleeping beauty, it’s almost noon.”           

“Fuck off,” Steve mumbles into the pillow.          

“Good morning to you too. Now get out of my bed, I have to show you something.”           

That wakes Steve up, and nearly sends him into a panic before he remembers that he had bunked with Bucky the night before after their only-partially-true conversation. He sits up and looks at Bucky, who is grinning in that stupid way that makes the thing living in Steve’s chest drop down to his stomach and do fucking _flips_ or something, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t like it so he doesn’t think about it.           

“Should I be worried?” He asks, standing up to follow Bucky, who is already halfway out of the room. Bucky rolls his eyes.           

“No, you big baby. I found something and I want to show it to you.”           

“Is it whatever you threw at me to wake me up?”           

“First of all, that wasn’t throwing, it barely even hit you.”           

“It woke me up,” Steve counters, smiling. This is always so easy for them to fall back into - it makes him feel a little lighter than he has the last few days, weeks, whatever.           

“Whatever. Second of all, yes,” Bucky says. He sits down on the couch and Steve sits next to him and watches as he unfolds the piece of paper. It takes Steve a second to understand what he’s looking at, and then -           

“Holy shit, where did you find this?”           

“One of those boxes in my closet that I haven’t gone through since high school. I figured I need to downsize before I move, so I picked one to start with this morning and this was laying on the top.” Steve picks up the map and brings it closer to them and it feels like they’re fourteen again, picking out stops for Bucky to mark while Steve was nursing a black eye.           

“We made a pretty good map for a couple of dumb kids,” Steve says. He traces the line of the route they chose with his index finger and smiles. Bucky is kind-of staring at him, Steve can feel it.           

“We should do it,” Bucky says after a moment.           

“What?”           

“The road trip - we should take it. I mean, we never did it after high school, right? And after this summer I’ll be, y’know, gone for the better part of two years.”           

“I - I mean yeah, Bucky, it sounds fun, but -,”           

“C’mon, Stevie, none of that. Listen. We’ve got enough money saved up to go off the grid for two months. What’s the point of having the plan if we never go?” Bucky is looking at him, pleading puppy eyes, and Steve has never been able to say no to that. Not really.           

“Okay,” he says finally. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”           

“You’re the best,” Bucky says. Steve focuses on the map to try and hide the slight flush of his cheeks.          

“I know,” he says, and his voice doesn’t give him away.           

“Conceited,” Bucky hums, and Steve knocks against his shoulder. “Okay, so, how do we convince Sam to go?”

-          

As expected, Sam is less than thrilled with the idea when they ask him about it upon his return that afternoon.           

“Have you guys ever _been_ on a road trip?”          

“Have you?” Bucky counters. Sam rolls his eyes.           

“I’m just sayin’, it’s gonna be a lot more expensive than you guys think it is, and -,”           

“We have money,” Bucky says, because he’s a little stubborn and a little impatient.           

“And I won’t let him stop anywhere besides the places we have picked,” Steve says. “I’m his impulse control.” Sam looks and him and sighs,           

“I mean, that’s just absolutely not true. You know he’s gonna end up miles off course no matter what.”          

“Fair,” Steve says, and raises his eyebrows.           

“This - I mean, this is seriously probably your worst idea. Ever.” Bucky grins.           

“So you’ll go?” Sam glances between them, and looks at the map they handed him, marked to hell with red sharpie and little arrows pointing at all their future stops, and then back up.           

“Yeah, I’ll go. But when something goes horribly wrong you can’t put any of the blame on me,” he says, and Steve smiles.           

“Deal,” Bucky says. “Oh, there is one other thing. Can we use your car?” 

-           

Sam’s car, while big enough to fit all three of them, isn’t big enough to comfortably house them and three months worth of luggage for each of them. And, as they find out two days before they’re going to leave, it needs a new battery. And so goes their only method of transportation.           

“ _You_ have a car,” Sam says, waving his fork in Bucky’s direction at that week’s Thursday night dinner.           

“My car won’t even make it to work without almost overheating. We’d be dead before we got out of New York.” They both look at Steve.

“You - you guys have lived with me for years. I don’t _have_ a car. Please tell me that you know this.”           

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky says, then looks at Nat.           

“Absolutely not,” she says quickly. “First of all, I don’t trust you guys to drive my car, especially you Barnes. Second of all, I need it.”           

“Well, looks like we’re just shit out of luck, then,” Sam says. “How disappointing.”           

“I don’t like your sarcasm,” Bucky says.           

“I don’t like you.”           

“You guys might not be out of luck,” Sharon interrupts before Bucky and Sam can start beating on each other. “Peggy has an RV. I bet she’d bring it up.”           

“What, your sister who we’ve only met once would let us borrow her RV for two months?” Steve asks, and Sharon shrugs.           

“Probably. Seems like the only option you guys have left.” Steve looks at Sam, who just shrugs, and Bucky, who is grinning like an idiot.           

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “We’ll take it if she doesn’t care.”           

Peggy, as it turns out, doesn’t care at all. She agrees to bring it to them as soon as she can, and they’re ready to go three days later, RV packed full of food and suitcases and a far too eager Bucky sitting behind the wheel.           

“Just bring her back in one piece, boys,” Peggy says as Steve and Sam climb in.           

“Good luck,” Nat says. “Try not to kill each other.”           

“No promises,” Sam calls back as the door closes. From the passenger seat, Steve plugs his phone in and shuffles the playlist they made for the trip, and settles back until it’s his turn to drive.           

“This song sucks,” Sam says when they’re twenty minutes and four songs in.           

“You keep saying that,” Steve says.           

“Yeah, well, I know I put some good ass songs on this playlist. There’s some kind of conspiracy going on.”           

“Don’t you have homework to do?” Bucky asks.           

“Fuck you,” Sam says. “Don’t you have to be a pain in the ass somewhere else?”          

“Nope,” Bucky says, popping the ‘p’. “I get to be a pain in your ass for the next two months. You signed up for this.”           

“Dammit,” Sam groans. “This is probably the worst decision I’ve ever made.”           

“Or the best,” Steve says.         

“Yeah, man, this trip might change your life,” Bucky says, and turns up the music. 

-           

The thing about the road trip is that Steve and Bucky are not particularly good at planning, well, anything. So, despite revisions to the original road trip route (including many apologies to their fourteen year old selves for not being able to go coast to coast) and the help of Sam, who is much better at planning than they are, they don’t have much of a plan at all. Natasha had given some input since she’s been to more states than the three of them combined, told them the places she thought they really needed to stop, and then Bucky said it would be more fun if they improvised.           

Steve is pretty sure Sam’s exact response was something like, “I hate you, and you’re going to get us all killed.” And, from the looks of it, he wasn’t too far off.           

“Where the hell _are_ we?” Sam asks, looking out the window of the RV.           

“Uh, New Jersey?” Bucky guesses.           

“You don’t know where we are,” Steve supplies.           

“Well, okay, not _exactly_ -,”           

“I hate you, Barnes. I hate you,” Sam says.           

“We aren’t lost!” Bucky assures them. “We’re in New Jersey. I just don’t know exactly _where_ in New Jersey.”

“Well, where are we supposed to be?” Steve asks.           

“I don’t know, where do you guys wanna go?” Bucky asks, and he sounds much too nonchalant about it. Sam groans, and before he and Bucky can get into a physical fight, Steve says,           

“Okay, unless anyone has any objections, I’m just going to google stuff to do in New Jersey.”           

“Please,” Sam says. “We’ll die if you don’t.”           

“Shut up,” Bucky says, flipping him off.           

“Both hands on the wheel, Barnes,” Sam grins. Steve finds a website that lists weird and unusual things to do in every state, and they decide that it sounds more exciting than visiting the number one tourist spots, and this is how they end up at a paranormal bookstore slash museum in New Jersey.           

“This is the best,” Bucky says at the same time that Sam says,           

“This is the weirdest fucking trip I’ve ever been on.”           

“We’ve only been on it for a few hours,” Steve counters.           

“Yeah,” Sam says as they’re walking in. “That’s my point.”           

After they do the hour-long tour of the museum and have made their way out of the bookstore and back to the RV, they decide to use the website to pick all of their stops. Except, the next day, when they’re driving through Pennsylvania, Bucky sees a sign for something called The Barnes Foundation, and makes Sam take a detour to go see it because it has his last name on it.           

It turns out to be an art museum, and Steve has a fantastic time dragging Sam and Bucky around to show them his favorite pieces. They are a very good audience, and they ooh and aah in all the right places and stay as alert as they can for two people who know nothing about art.           

They’re about five days out of New York, somewhere between Maryland and Virginia, when Steve gets a little too in his own head. He’s sitting in the back, sketchbook on his lap opened to a blank page, but he hasn’t even picked up the pencil. Bucky is driving and Sam is in the passenger seat and Steve can only hear pieces of what they’re saying over the shuffling music, but it’s something about Europe. Apartments and internships and jobs and people and Steve has half a mind to jump out of the RV even if they are speeding down an interstate.           

There’s a crumpled list in his sock drawer back home with a blank space on it and a constant almost-empty feeling in his stomach that gets worse when his mind betrays him and reminds him about August and Europe and Bucky leaving. Because, even without the reason he can’t quite place locking everything in, here’s the thing: Steve knows Bucky.           

He knows that Bucky is a creature of change, not habit. That he has a tendency to fall hard and fast for people, places, whatever. He knows that there is all the possibility in the world that Bucky will go to Europe and he will never come back. It’s always in the back of his mind - he just does his best to cover it with anything else that he can. It’s a reality that scares him so badly that he feels like he can’t breathe when he thinks about it. Something he’s all too used to even though he hasn’t had a real asthma attack in years.           

Steve is so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t even realize they’re stopped until Bucky pushes his shoulder.           

“C’mon, mister sketch,” Bucky says. “We’re getting snacks.”           

Outside, Steve and Sam decide to get some air while Bucky gets all the snacks, to which he says something along the lines of  “I guess I really gotta do all the work.” It earns him a shove from Sam and they all fall into laughter and Steve feels a little better than he did before.           

“You good, Rogers?” Sam asks then, because he’s a good friend. Steve really does love him a lot. “You were pretty spaced out when we stopped.”           

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, I just - get lost in my head a lot, I guess.”           

“Have anything to do with what Bucky and I were talking about?” Steve glares at him instead of saying anything, because Sam is really too smart for his own good. “You know you need to talk to him, right?”           

“I know,” Steve says, leaning back against the side of the van. He closes his eyes and lets out a breath. “He might never come back.” Sam chuckles and lets out a low whistle.  

“That’s pretty bold.”          

“I know him.”           

“Not well enough, apparently,” Sam says. “You have to know that he would never leave you for real, man. Not forever. It would probably break some fuckin’ childhood friendship blood pact.” Steve raises his eyebrows and smiles. “I’m just assuming you guys have those. Seems like something you’d do.”           

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve says, because Sam can always kind of help him with stuff like this more than anyone else. Bucky comes back a minute later, arms loaded down with sugar filled drinks and snack cakes and chips, and he takes over driving again when they’re back on the RV. They have an impromptu singalong when something from the Grease soundtrack starts playing, and it’s after two in the morning and they’ve well since crossed into Virginia when they stop for the night. Sam and Bucky pass out almost immediately and Steve, to his credit, doesn’t spend too much time overthinking before he falls asleep too.           

He wakes up first, around seven, and figures he’ll take over driving so they can stay as close as possible to their very vague schedule. To his surprise, Bucky is up next, after he’s been driving for about a half hour. 

“Where we headed, captain?” Bucky asks. 

“Anywhere that has greasy breakfast food,” Steve says, grinning. He glances at Bucky just long enough to see a sleepy smile on his lips and looks away before he can get a good look at the way the sun falls over Bucky’s hair and his face and then he shakes that thought out of his head and files it away as something to worry about later. 

Sam wakes up just as they pull into the parking lot of a restaurant and, for now, Steve pushes thoughts about Bucky away in favor of plates full of breakfast food. 

- 

“No,” Sam says when Bucky pulls up the picture on his phone. 

“Why not?” 

“We are not stopping to see the grave of the dude who patented the Ouija board,” Sam says flatly, and Steve can’t help but laugh. 

“Steve, back me up here,” Bucky pleads. 

“No, no, I’d like to see where this is going.” 

“Asshole,” Bucky says teasingly. “Sam, it’s designed to look like a Ouija board!”

“I’m sorry you clearly have a death wish, but I don’t want to be plagued by demons. Although they might be less annoying than you are.” 

“I hate you,” Bucky says. They don’t stop at the Ouija grave. 

- 

In Virginia, they stop to see the world’s largest slinky. 

(“Will you stop whining if we go see it?” Sam asks after Bucky’s eighth request. 

“Very likely,” Bucky says, and Sam sighs and takes the next exit.) 

They make the absolute most of being tourists and take a hundred pictures in front of it, leading to a phone call from Sharon once they’re back on the RV telling them to keep sending pictures, and Nat asking them to please stop and look at one thing that is legitimately historic or usefully educational. This, in turn, sends Bucky into a spiel about how they wouldn’t let him go see the Ouija board grave, and Steve falls into a fit of laughter in the front seat. 

“C’mon,” Steve says to Sam once he’s recovered, “it’s a little funny.”

“Little funny, a lot annoying,” Sam says, but he’s almost smiling. They stop at an actual restaurant for dinner that night, and Steve takes over driving after that. They sing along obnoxiously to their carefully crafted playlist, and Bucky breaks into full body laughter when Sam does a perfect and dramatic rendition of a Kesha song. Steve sings along with them, trying to ignore the weird jolt in his chest when Bucky laughs like that, because it isn’t important right now. It can’t be. 

Bucky lasts a few more songs before he knocks out in the back of the RV, and Steve keeps driving. He and Sam sit and talk about the trip – they’ll be in the Carolinas sometime in the next few days, what they’ll do there, and Sam starts a list on his phone of the things they find online. They talk about school, too, and a little bit about what they’re going to do when they get back to New York. They don’t talk about the internship, or even about Bucky, really, outside of the trip, which Steve is thankful for. Bucky is his best friend, but Sam can read him better than anyone.

“You want me to take over?” Sam asks later, after they’ve slipped into comfortable silence. 

“No,” Steve says, “we can just stop somewhere. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been getting enough sleep since we left.” He doesn’t say why, and Sam doesn’t ask. 

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Sounds good to me.” 

- 

Steve gets a lot of drawing in while they’re on the road, which surprises him. At night, mostly, because he tries not to be the one driving when it’s too dark out. And so he spends most of his time between the rest of Virginia and the stretch of road taking them to North Carolina perched in the passenger seat of the RV, sketching whatever comes to mind. 

He, admittedly, has a lot of half-finished sketches of Bucky. He tries not to think about this too much. It’s something he’s done for longer than he’d like to admit – push away thoughts of Bucky. Since high school, since before that. He’s sure he could fill endless sketchbooks with the amount of drawings he’s done of Bucky since they’ve known each other. He thinks in passing about asking Sam what that might mean, and decides against it. If he’s being honest with himself then he knows it’s not a conversation that would come to a quick and painless end.

North Carolina is nice – Steve has never been before. He’s never been to any states in the south, really. It does, at first, seem like a state they’ll drive through most of. And then they find out about something called Sliding Rock, and there’s no stopping Sam from getting to it any way he can. 

The name is very fitting, it turns out. It’s a natural slide, down a waterfall and into a pool at the end. Steve doesn’t think all three of them have ever been so excited about anything. 

Sam goes first, yelling like a little kid as he goes down and splashes into the water. Steve goes next. 

“Be careful,” Bucky says, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder. The touch sort of makes Steve feel like he’s on fire, so he nods and slips down to the water. It’s really, genuinely so much fun. Bucky is down next, and then they do it again, and again, and a few more times after that.

When they’ve gotten their fill, Steve searches on his phone for a place to eat. They pick something called Cookout, which claims on its website that it has over forty different milkshake flavors. It takes a little while to get to it, but it turns out to be worth it. No one stares at them for having obviously come straight from swimming, there _are_ over forty flavors, and the food is very good. They all try each other’s shakes, and Steve doesn’t get at all distracted by Bucky pushing his still wet hair out of his face or anything else. Obviously. 

- 

In South Carolina they take a big detour and drive out to Myrtle Beach. It turns out to be kind of dirty and not all that fun, but the boardwalk does have a lot of arcades and souvenir stands. Bucky buys his sister every possible piece of Myrtle Beach memorabilia he can find. 

“Is she obsessed with Myrtle Beach?” Sam asks. 

“Oh, she hates it,” Bucky says. “She came here once with her best friend’s family and had a terrible time and also got food poisoning. She’s gonna hate all this stuff. It’ll be hilarious.” 

- 

Out of South Carolina and into Georgia, they unanimously agree to go straight to Atlanta. They do all the very touristy things – the aquarium and all the local shops they can find. They spend most of the day downtown and spend way too much money on food that is much better than anything any of them will ever be able to cook. 

Ultimately they decide on two days for Georgia, and they get to the closest hotel to find it, unsurprisingly, almost totally full. They end up getting adjoining rooms, each with one queen bed. At this point, it’s sort of unspoken that in situations like this that Steve and Bucky take one together and Sam gets his to himself. Because they’ve shared beds enough that it isn’t weird, and because Sam says that Steve is too cuddly and Bucky kicks.

Steve gets the shower first, and he lets the hot water run over him more than he actually does shower things like wash his hair. This trip is the most fun he’s had in a long time, but sleeping in the RV is starting to get to his back. It’s sore from that, and from all the walking they’ve done, and he wonders briefly if he can convince Bucky to give him a massage. This is a very bad train of thought, of course. Massage turns into him thinking about Bucky’s hands, just in general, and then on him, and then, well. It’s not the first time in his life he’s gotten off to thoughts of Bucky, but it doesn’t make him feel any less guilty. 

When he’s out, stretched across the bed in his pajamas, he pointedly doesn’t think of the fact that Bucky is naked in the shower. 

He doesn’t end up asking Bucky to rub his back – even though he knows Bucky would probably say yes. 

They spend most of the next day at the Coca Cola factory. They take the entire tour and they sample every single flavor and Bucky almost pukes, which Sam finds so funny that _he_ almost pukes from laughing so hard. When they’re done they go to the MLK Historical Park. They spend hours going through it, and Steve ranks it at the top of his list of things they’ve done so far on the trip.

They head out of Georgia that night and Steve does seriously consider convincing them to spend another day there, but he remembers rather bitterly that they do, ultimately, have a time limit. 

-

Steve convinces them to stop at the Space Center in Huntsville, which ends up being a little boring. But Bucky and Sam spend the entire time theorizing about how the moon landing was faked, sufficiently pissing off enough people that Steve thinks they probably will not be allowed back in. It’s equal parts endlessly annoying and hilarious. Alabama doesn’t bring them much else, and they decide that the best part of being in Alabama, is, well. Leaving Alabama. 

- 

Crossing the Mississippi river ends up being one of the cooler experiences of Steve’s life. Sam is driving them, and Steve takes one picture as they cross so he can draw it later. Bucky probably takes a hundred pictures, which he sends to Nat and Sharon with a lot of emojis that don’t mean much at all to Steve. He doesn’t think they do to Sharon, either, but Nat responds in kind with lots of emojis of her own. It makes Bucky laugh, so Steve appreciates it even though he doesn’t really understand. 

- 

Arkansas and Missouri, frankly, are not very interesting. They do stop at several restaurants they’ve never heard of and at a variety of kitschy, hole in the wall stores. They rack up a fair amount of souvenirs and they end up stopping for a while at a botanical garden in St. Louis. It ends up being much cooler and exciting than expected, and Steve takes a lot of pictures.

“Drawing material?” Bucky asks when he’s swiping through them later. 

“Naturally,” Steve grins.   

Late that night, he pulls out his sketchbook and opens his pictures on his phone. He speeds through it rather quickly – he draws the flowers and the trees and then a more detailed sketch of the outside of the garden. Bucky had rattled off about the architecture and taken so many pictures of it that Steve didn’t know how he still had space on his phone for anything else. When he finishes it he pulls it out and tucks it in the back of the sketchbook. He’ll give it to Bucky later. 

He stays up later than he has been on the trip so far. They’ve since stopped, opted for sleeping in the RV instead of paying for a hotel. He fills lots of pages. He draws the arch and the Mississippi River from his perspective and then, flipping through his pictures, he finds one of Bucky laughing at something Sam had said outside of the Space Center in Huntsville. He flips to the very last blank page in his book and starts on it – more detailed than a usual sketch. 

This one, he thinks, he’ll keep for himself. 

-

They aren’t supposed to stop in Iowa. The plan is to drive through it a little and then go down to Illinois because it’s more fun, probably, and because there’s jack shit to do in Iowa. Probably. 

And then, an hour and a half into the Iowa freeway, Bucky announces that he’s so hungry that he will die if they don’t stop and get food. 

“We have food,” Sam says. He’s sitting at the table working on some very official-looking work for his classes, because he has his shit together even on a spur of the moment road trip. “We practically bought out that gas station last night.” 

“Sam. Sam the man. Sam I am-,” 

“Stop.” 

“Look, I’m just saying that if I don’t have a greasy burger in front of me in the next fifteen minutes, I’m not responsible for my actions. Also, I’m driving, so you guys can’t stop me.” 

And that’s how they end up parked in front of a zombie themed burger joint. Steve pinches himself and nothing happens - this is the unfortunate reality he’s living in.

“Not a goddamn chance,” Sam says when he looks out the window. 

“Sam, we haven’t eaten _all day_ ,” Bucky stresses, like his conscience won’t rest until they all have a stacked plate of food in front of them.

“I’ll take my chances with the possibly expired gas station snack cakes.”         

“Sam,” Steve pleads. “You can’t let him take me in there alone. I’ll die.” 

“You’re both so dramatic,” Bucky says. 

“I’ll die,” Steve repeats. “And then you’ll be stuck on the rest of this road trip alone with him.” Sam considers this for a moment, then stands and says, 

“Fine. But this better be worth my while.” 

“Something life-changing could be waiting for you in that restaurant, Wilson,” Bucky says, leading them off the RV and towards the door. 

“Someone with a big knife, I hope, so they can stab you and I’ll never have to deal with your annoying ass again.” 

It’s much cleaner inside than Steve expects, though he doesn’t know quite what that was. Fake zombified body parts as decor and waiters walking around in makeup to rival The Walking Dead, maybe. It’s his first time in a zombie themed restaurant - it’s an enlightening experience. Next to him, Sam looks ready to start yelling profanities at Bucky and storm out of the place, but someone walks up to seat them before that can happen. 

When their waiter comes to the table, the first thing Steve notices is that he looks frazzled in an ‘I swear I’m trying to get my shit together’ kind of way. The second thing is that he’s cute, but not-so-obviously cute. More of a boyish charm, endearing, kind of stupid cute, like Bucky - and okay, Steve cuts that train of thought off immediately because, seriously, not right now. The third thing he notices is that the waiter is wearing hearing aids. 

“Hi,” he says. “Welcome to Zombie Burger. I’m Clint, I’ll be your waiter tonight.”

“Thanks for telling us. I, uh, couldn’t read your name tag,” Bucky says, gesturing to it. It’s upside down. 

“Aw, shit,” Clint says, and puts what he’s holding down on their table to fix it. “Okay. Here are your menus, I’ll give you guys a minute to decide.” Sam opens the menu when Clint is gone and lets out a low whistle. 

“Well, Barnes, I think you found the stupidest _and_ most expensive burger place in all of Iowa. Good job.” 

“As your punishment for making us come in here, you can pay,” Steve says, and Bucky gives him the finger. 

“Fuck you guys. Fine, I’ll pay.” Clint, true to his word, comes back soon after to take their orders, and then says, 

“So, what brings you to the worst part of Iowa?” 

“Meaning the town or the restaurant?” Sam asks. 

“Both,” Clint says, grinning. “Seriously, no one outside of this town comes to this place. So what fuckin’ entity possessed you guys and got you to stop here?” 

“Well, uh,” Bucky stammers, and Steve, in a moment of utter stupidity, remembers the too-expensive burgers and the time he and Bucky tried to fake an engagement to get free food from the Cheesecake Factory, and comes up with an absolutely terrible idea. 

“We’re on our honeymoon,” he blurts out, gesturing between himself and Bucky. “We just got married and we, uh, wanted to go on a road trip.” Clint raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly at Sam. 

“It’s my RV,” Sam supplies, glaring at Steve. “And I don’t trust them.” 

“Fair,” Clint says. “So you’re _here_? I mean, no offense, but-,” 

“Oh, no,” Sam interrupts. “It’s a weird as hell honeymoon - embarrassing. Offend them. They deserve it.” Bucky gives him the finger. Clint laughs and gives Sam a crooked grin, then says, 

“Well, if you need any suggestions for what to do while you’re in Iowa, let me know. It isn’t _all_ boring.” He offers his congratulations to Steve and Bucky then walks away, telling them that their food will be out soon. Once he’s gone, Sam wads up a napkin and throws it at Steve’s head. 

“What the _hell_ was that?” 

“I panicked!” Steve says. “You guys weren’t answering!”

“So your first instinct is to tell this waiter we’re never gonna speak to again that you and Bucky are _married_?” Sam asks. Bucky doesn’t say anything and Steve doesn’t look at him.

“Because telling him we stopped here because it was the only place we could find and we don’t wanna be in Iowa anyway sounds so much better,” Steve counters.

“No one wants to be in Iowa!” Sam says just as Clint comes back with their food. 

“That’s true,” he says, grinning. Sam looks a little embarrassed, but Steve is pretty sure only he can tell. 

“Thought you said it wasn’t all bad,” Sam remarks, no sign of embarrassment in his voice.

“It isn’t if you’re just visiting,” Clint says with a grin. “Like I said, I can hook you up with the coolest places around if you’re interested. Enjoy the food, guys.” He walks off, and Sam stares directly at Steve. 

“I want a better explanation,” he says before taking a bite of his burger. His face twists up in disgust. “That’s fucking nasty. You owe me legal compensation, Barnes.” Bucky grins. 

“I thought he might give us free food,” Steve says. “It worked at the Cheesecake Factory.” 

“This is a zombie themed restaurant in a state that isn’t known for anything but corn, you idiot,” Sam says. “This is not the Cheesecake Factory.” 

“Hey, it was worth a shot,” Bucky says through a mouthful of hamburger. Sam grimaces.

“I can’t believe you want to be married to that.” Steve rolls his eyes and prays he isn’t blushing.

“I don’t _want_ to be married to Bucky.” 

“I’m wounded.” 

“You’ll live.” 

“Do you think if I slip him a twenty Clint will sneak me out the back and away from you two?” Sam asks seriously. Bucky finishes his food, and then finishes Sam’s and Steve’s, and he’s topping off the last of the fries when Clint comes back with the bill. 

“I gave you guys a tiny discount since you’re willingly eating here on your honeymoon. Don’t tell my boss,” he says, winking at them. Bucky pays, true to his word, and they’re back outside walking to the RV when Steve says, 

“I feel bad. I took advantage of our poor waiter.” 

“At least call him Clint,” Sam says. “I bet that three dollars off comes right out of his paycheck. It’s the least you can do.” 

“Ugh,” Steve groans. “I’m a horrible person and I’m going to rot for this.” 

“Drama queen,” Bucky says, bumping their shoulders. 

“Hey,” Sam says sternly. “That’s no way to talk to your husband.” Steve smacks his arm and Sam and Bucky bust out laughing, interrupted only by someone calling out “hey!” and footsteps following it. They turn around and see Clint running up to them, and he grins again.

“I forgot to give you guys the endless list of incredibly fun and exciting things to do while you’re in Iowa. How long are you guys staying?” He asks. Bucky shrugs,

“Probably not long. How many fun things you got?” 

“Oh, like, two. There’s nothing here except corn. Sorry to disappoint. But, listen, if you guys change your mind I can definitely show you my favorite stuff here.”

“I mean, I guess we could stay for a day or so,” Steve says. “If we can scrape up the money for a hotel, that is.” Clint thinks for a second, then says, 

“I have a guest bedroom. No hotels and no more sleeping in your RV than I’m sure you already have. I promise I won’t like, tie you up and waterboard you or kill you or anything like that.” 

“Reassuring,” Sam says, then looks between Steve and Bucky. “Yeah, why not.” 

“Rad,” Clint says. “Just follow my truck, yeah?” 

It takes them twenty minutes to get to Clint’s apartment complex from the restaurant, and when they get there they realize that there’s nowhere they can actually park a huge RV, but it turns out Clint is friends with the owner - Quill, he calls him - and he agrees to let them park it across an empty section of the lot for a few days. 

The first thing to greet them upon entering Clint’s apartment is a very large, very friendly dog. He runs around them excitedly and is nearly Steve’s height when he jumps and puts his paws on his shoulders. 

“C’mon, Lucky, don’t kill them,” Clint says as the dog makes his way to Bucky, who sidesteps so he’s standing behind Steve. 

“He can still see you, Buck,” Steve says. Sam laughs as the dog - Lucky - circles around them just to get to Bucky again. He goes to Sam next and he must get tired of being the one-dog welcoming committee, because he lays down right on Sam’s feet. 

“He’s friendly, I promise,” Clint says, reaching down to scratch Lucky’s head. 

“Bucky isn’t a dog person,” Steve says, and Bucky scoffs from behind him. 

“I like dogs -,”

“No you don’t,” Sam interjects. 

“I like dogs,” Bucky repeats. “They’re just very jumpy.”

“Fair,” Clint says. “He’ll calm down once you guys have been here for a while. Make yourselves comfortable - do any of you want a beer?” They end up sitting around Clint’s too-small kitchen table and drinking his beer that is, admittedly, pretty gross, but Steve doesn’t mind.

“So, what’s there to do here? What wonders do you have in store?” Bucky asks. Clint takes a drink of his beer and thinks for a minute, then says, 

“Have you guys seen the gnome yet?”

“The _what,_ ” Sam says.

“The gnome. Elwood.”

“Elwood,” Sam repeats.

“Elwood! The world’s tallest gnome,” Clint says proudly.

“I hate Iowa,” Sam says. “I hate it.” They end up staying in for the night and Clint orders them takeout from his favorite chinese restaurant and something about it all feels very domestic, settled, like they’ve been doing it forever, like Clint has always been there. When Bucky announces that he’ll die if he doesn’t go to sleep, Clint tells him and Steve to take the guest room since they’re “the happy couple”, and Steve chokes on nothing. He also insists that Sam take his room and he’ll take the couch which turns into a fifteen minute argument about who sleeps where and ends up with them both going into Clint’s room, across the hall from Steve and Bucky.

“Think they’re fucking?” Bucky asks, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“You’re a child,” he says. “No.” Bucky grins and Steve ignores the stupid warm feeling it puts in his chest, like a campfire. He hates it even if he doesn’t hate it at all.

There’s only one bed, of course, which isn’t weird. Not until they’re laying down and Bucky says,

“I bet they think _we’re_ fucking.”

“You’re devil spawn and I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Bucky says, the same big grin on his face. Steve pours water on the fire.

“I must have done something despicable in my past life to get stuck with you,” he says lightly. Bucky flips him off. 

“C’mon, you can’t talk to your husband like that.” 

“Go to sleep, asshole,” is all Steve can say in response. They’re woken up the next morning by Lucky leaping onto the bed and jumping on them, and Bucky almost screams. They get dressed and Clint insists that they take the RV instead of his truck because he’s never been on a real road trip. He directs them to a cafe near his apartment for breakfast and once they’re done and back in the RV, Clint says, 

“Okay. You guys want to see the gnome?” 

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Sam says. 

“Yes,” Bucky almost shouts, and Steve shakes his head. 

“What’s at the gnome? Like, what do you do there?” He asks. 

“You look at the gnome,” Clint shrugs. 

“We are not going to see some big gnome,” Sam says firmly, but Steve knows he isn’t winning this one, not after Bucky convinced him to see the giant slinky way back in Virginia. 

“Are you driving, bitch? We’re going to see the gnome.” 

Five minutes out from the cafe, he’s sitting in the passenger seat and he weasels his way into taking over the playlist and manhandles the shuffle button so much Steve thinks he might have a stroke. 

“Pick a song,” Sam says desperately. Clint has changed it six times in the last minute and a half.

“There’s nothing good on h – oh! Okay, got one.” Clint says excitedly. Steve is very nervous. The music starts, and then the distinctive sound of a typewriter. Steve can see from where he’s sitting that Bucky is about to comment, but then Clint is singing along – _“tumble out of bed and I stumble to the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition”_ – and Steve thinks he has had enough of Iowa, seen enough. And then someone else joins in, not him and certainly not Bucky, and – 

“Holy shit,” Steve says when he looks at Sam only to see him effortlessly singing along. He glances at Bucky, whose mouth is hanging open, and Steve is a little worried he might crash the RV in his distracted state. 

“What,” Sam says, “Dolly Parton is a legend.” Clint reaches over and gives Sam a high five. 

“Bucky, drive faster,” Steve pleads. “Not something I ever thought I’d say.”

“So y’all hate fun?” Clint asks, looking between Steve and Bucky. Sam loses it, doubling over in his seat, and then Steve is laughing too, and then all of them. It drowns out the sound of Dolly’s twang which, fine, is not too bad. 

“No. As long as this is the only country you play.” Bucky says. Clint scoffs, 

“This is _barely_ country music.” Steve wonders briefly if he could sneak attack Clint and wrestle the phone away from him.

Clint remains in control of the playlist for the rest of the drive, much to Bucky’s dismay. Steve thinks, though, that all is forgiven when they get there. They can see it, just barely, from their place in line. 

“Wow,” Bucky says. “It’s beautiful.” 

“I can’t stand you.” Sam says. Bucky wraps an arm around his shoulder which Sam pushes off in a second flat. They pay admission, which Steve and Sam both find absolutely fucking absurd to see a concrete gnome, but they do it anyway, and then they walk past the booth and up as close as they can get. 

It’s a gnome, that’s for sure. Undoubtedly. Steve appreciates the honesty in its name and, well, not much else. There isn’t much to see. Unless you’re Bucky and Clint, he supposes, who are taking pictures of each other in front of it. Bucky sends Nat a video that pans from the gnome to Sam’s face before he tries to knock the phone out of his hand. She responds with ‘we’ve been there!’ which makes Bucky very excited. 

When it comes to group pictures, Sam very willingly takes on the role of photographer. And then Clint and Bucky start insisting that they get _real_ group pictures, and they get a passing family to take some, though it takes a lot of convincing Sam. The three of them stand to the side while Bucky takes pictures of the family in exchange, and then they get back to the RV. Bucky starts it up, grinning from ear to ear. 

“This is the greatest thing we’ve ever done. We have to come back.” 

“Absolutely fucking not.” Sam says, and Steve looks at him in agreement. Bucky shrugs, 

“Party poopers. Whatever – we have to stop and see at _least_ one more giant sculpture before we get back to New York.” 

“No,” Sam says. “We already saw the slinky. Absolutely not.”

“You guys _saw_ the slinky? The one in Virginia?” Clint asks, sounding far more impressed with a slinky than is necessary. This sets off a conversation about the slinky, and the gnome, and every other thing that could possibly be in the ‘world’s largest’ category. Sam lets his head fall forward and sighs, and Steve smiles. The gnome was certainly not anything particularly remarkable, but this might be.

The next day Clint convinces them to go see Albert. They’re sitting around his table and Steve is sneaking bites of bacon to Lucky who is sitting next to Bucky’s chair, having permanently taken up residency at his side.

“He’s the world’s largest -,” Clint starts, and Sam fully stops chewing. He finishes and swallows, then glares at Clint 

“Do not even finish that sentence.”

“Bull,” Clint finishes.

“We’re going,” Bucky says around a mouthful of food. 

“That’s disgusting. Your mother raised you better,” Steve says, poking his fork in Bucky’s direction. Clint smiles at them and Steve is not really hungry anymore. 

They do end up going to see Albert, which Sam calls ridiculous and a waste of money amongst other things. Steve stands back with him while Bucky and Clint have the time of their lives and there is a semblance of something Steve can’t quite place in Sam’s expression. He’s pretty sure, though, that it isn’t aimed at Bucky. 

On their way back to Clint’s apartment he takes them to his favorite restaurant for lunch and then they decide to go play mini golf. Steve likes this very much because he has some sort of weird affinity for it and absolutely always beats everyone else. Sam is also good, and Clint is very bad. Bucky is hilariously bad. Steve wins and Bucky flips him off, but he smiles. He gives him a congratulations hug and it lasts longer than is really usual, and when he steps back, Bucky is _looking_ at him. Steve feels content and a little sick. It’s a strange combination but one he’s getting more used to as time goes on. On their way out of the course, Sam nudges his shoulder and gives him the same look as always.

Clint tells them that, in all honesty, there’s not much more to do around where they are, so they get in the RV – Sam takes over driving, Clint in the passenger seat. Steve can feel Bucky looking at him, and he pushes it away. They decide to stop and pick up an inordinate amount of pizzas, which they take back to his apartment and eat with the rest of Clint’s gross beer. 

They end up talking more than eating and Steve picks most of the pepperoni off of his pizza and feeds it to Lucky, laughing when he nips at his hand for more. Sam and Clint are sitting closer together than is absolutely necessary, with the space around them. Steve notices this because he is hell bent on finding something to focus on other than the fact that Bucky keeps _looking_ at him. It makes him feel something, he doesn’t know. It makes him feel. 

After dinner, Steve goes to take a shower in an effort to wash the Bucky situation away. He more or less ends up just standing under the scalding water for thirty minutes and thinking about it even more than usual.  
  
It isn't new. The sketching and the glances and the feeling in his chest when Bucky laughs, it's all been there for as long as Steve can remember. He remembers growing up and always looking at Bucky. For a long time he thought it was because Bucky was always bigger than him and he was jealous. Later, in high school, Bucky would stare at girls and Steve would stare at Bucky. He remembers being fifteen and telling himself that he only did it because Bucky started growing his hair out so it looked long like a girl's.  
  
He remembers when Bucky told Steve about his first kiss - Grace Thompson from their science class with blonde hair and perfect teeth and nice handwriting. And, more than that, he remembers going home that night and crying and telling himself later he was just jealous because he had never kissed a girl. And then he remembers the realization, coming out, having a word that felt all his own. And, with it, being seventeen and telling himself he was in love with his best friend.  
  
It's been a while since he said it to himself, and now here he is, standing in Clint's bathroom with a towel around his hips and tears rolling down his cheeks. All of this is too familiar. He has been here before. He has stood in front of a mirror and told himself he couldn't like boys, he has stood in front of a mirror and told himself it doesn't matter if he's bisexual because no one will ever like him anyway, he has stood in front of a mirror and cried and told himself he cannot love Bucky even if Bucky likes boys too. He has picked himself down to nothing, too short and too scrawny and too loud and too pale and too many things no one could love.  
  
And he is in Clint's bathroom with light that is too yellow and a scratchy towel and he is still all of those things and more and he's fine with who he is but sometimes he feels so fucking lonely that he cannot stand it. Bucky is there, Bucky is always there, Bucky is his best friend and Steve loves him more than anything but that isn't the problem.  
  
The problem, mostly, is that he is made up of too many things Bucky won't ever love back.  
  
And sometimes that's fine, because Steve has accepted it in the same way he accepts loss, accepted his mother. The pain is there, a hole in his heart and a tear in his very being and it hurts so bad until it doesn't anymore. Until it is just a blip on the radar, until it is a numbness he grows so used to he doesn't know how to live without it. Sam would call it an unhealthy way to cope. Steve calls it the only way he remembers living; he loves Bucky, and he is numb.  
  
He gets dressed in the pajamas he carried in with him and dries his hair and Bucky is out there in the living room. Steve loves him, Steve loves him, Steve looks in the mirror and his fifteen year old self is staring back at him. High school Steve loved high school Bucky who sat in Steve's room on the other side of the wall and copied his notes and didn't know that every day his very act of being tore Steve's heart apart and stitched it together all at once.  
  
Eighteen year old Steve is in the mirror, too. Steve who sat down on dirty carpet and made a list of why he loved Bucky and why it was okay that he loved Bucky - two lists, a third list that wasn't much of a list at all, more of Steve's shaking hand writing down 'I think I'm in love with Bucky'. The papers are tattered and tucked into the back of Steve's sketchbook, the one laying on the bed in the room he's sharing with Bucky now.  
  
Steve shakes his head until he's the only one in the mirror. He takes deep breaths and splashes his face so no one will know he was crying. Bucky will know anyway. He dries his face off on the towel and turns out the light and goes back to the living room.  
  
"You were in there forever, man," Sam says, making a beeline for the bathroom as soon as Steve sits down. Bucky looks at him and Steve does nothing, says nothing. He knows Bucky won't drop it, because he never does.  
  
They drink some more of Clint's shitty beer that puts them somewhere between sober and tipsy and they laugh about things Steve doesn't make a point to remember. Sam and Clint are sitting close again and Steve focuses on that instead of how Bucky has been casually moving down to Steve's end of the couch.  
  
"So," Clint says, a little drunk but not smashed. His beer is cheap. "How long have you guys been together? I haven't heard this story yet."  
  
Steve has two choices: one, tell Clint it was all a joke, heat of the moment to try and scam him out of free zombie food. Maybe Clint is drunk enough to think it's funny. Option two is make his lie even more of a lie, make a whole convoluted story out of it.  
  
"Well," he says, not looking at Bucky. "We've known each other forever. Since we were little kids. And we've been together, y'know, like that, for -,"  
  
"Three years," Bucky cuts him off. "Well, almost." Steve, to his credit, doesn't choke to death on his beer. He does choke a little but covers it with a semi-convincing cough and says,  
  
"Yeah, three years."  
  
"Wow," Clint says. "I don't know if - this might sound weird, but. I can tell you guys are really in love. It's. Nice, I guess."  
  
Steve's heart pounds in his ears and Bucky is looking at him and now would be the best possible time for God or some higher power to kill him. Nothing happens and, well, isn't that just the way.  
  
Bucky is still looking at him.  
  
"So, Sam, is he...," Clint trails off. Steve thanks every force in the universe that Clint likes to talk so much.  
  
"He's our roommate," Bucky says. "In a roommate way, not like, in a gay way."

“Hey, it could be in a gay way if you guys weren’t cowards,” Sam says. Steve scoffs, 

“Sam. You would never sleep with Bucky.” 

“Yeah, okay. That’s fair.” 

“Hey!” Bucky says, feigning offense. “I am a delight.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Barnes,” Sam says.

“You’re alright,” Clint says. “I’d probably bang you but, to be fair, I’d bang a lot of people.” Sam loses his mind laughing at this, and Clint’s face goes a little red. Steve smiles. He’s pretty obvious, but Steve knows that Sam is inexplicably oblivious to any and all advances aimed at him. Clint’s admission of being willing to bang almost anyone turns into a very intense game of fuck marry kill that Steve puts a stop to the second Bucky implies he’d sleep with Christian Slater (“Bucky, the man looks like he would wear your skin.” “If you get to fuck Gordon Ramsay, Steve, I get to fuck Christian Slater.”) The four of them finish off the last of their beers and decide to sleep since it’s already past two and they’re leaving Iowa the next day, and Steve doesn’t even grin at Sam when he goes into Clint’s room, where both of them have been sleeping since the first night. 

Going into the bedroom, Bucky is uncharacteristically quiet, and when they’re inside he sits on the edge of the bed and wrings his hands. Steve leans against the dresser and raises his eyebrows at Bucky when he looks up. Bucky takes a deep breath and looks around, then right at Steve.

“Did - why did you tell Clint we were dating? Not the other night at the restaurant, tonight.” Bucky sits down on the edge of the bed and looks at him, looks like he has been all night.            

“I - you told him that.”            

“I had to say something. You’re a bad liar, Steve. Why didn’t you just tell him the restaurant was a joke?”          

“I,” Steve begins, then stops. He feels trapped between Bucky and the dresser. “I dunno, Buck.”           

“Okay, well, that - I don’t know what to do with that. Because you didn’t have to tell him we were, but you did. And I feel like that means something.”           

“You’re drunk, Bucky,” is all Steve can make himself say.           

“So are you.”           

“Yeah,” Steve says. He’s looking at the wall, and Bucky is looking at him. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t know.” Bucky lets out a breath and they stay there in silence for a minute. The door across the hall shuts, so Steve assumes that Sam and Clint have gone to bed. He tries to think about that, about how there’s something Sam isn’t telling him, about how he’s a little drunk but not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be, about anything except the words he can’t say to Bucky. The silence between them is heavy, awkward like it never has been before.

“I - come here,” Bucky says. Steve steps forward without even realizing it. Bucky stands and takes a step forward, too. Steve has the sudden urge to reach up and push the stray pieces of hair away from his face, so he clenches his fist as tightly as he can. After a moment, Bucky takes a deep breath. “If you don’t want me to do this, stop me.”           

“Wh-,” Steve starts, and then Bucky is kissing him.           

His lips are rough and his mouth tastes a little like cheap beer and a little like chocolate. It takes Steve’s brain a second to move past that and he’s about to start kissing back but Bucky’s hands are on his face and he does this _thing_ with his tongue and Steve is frozen to the spot. After another split second of doing nothing, Bucky pulls back.           

“Fuck,” he breathes out, eyes a little wide. “Fuck, ok, I’m sorry, I just thought -,”           

“Buck, be quiet,” Steve says, and pulls him back by the front of his shirt.           

It’s messier than Steve had imagined their first kiss. The countless times he’s thought about this scene it has been soft kisses, warm mouths, rough hands on his arms and his back and everywhere. And somehow, when Bucky backs him up against the dresser and starts kissing down his jawline, this is so much better. Bucky moves down to his neck and Steve rocks his hips and pulls at his long hair almost involuntarily and it makes Bucky let out a moan that, if they were totally sober, might embarrass him.           

Bucky pulls back after sucking at Steve’s neck so much that it has definitely left a mark and rests their foreheads together.           

“Sorry,” he whispers.           

“What for?” Steve asks, looping his arms around Bucky’s neck.           

“For fucking jumping you with no warning,” Bucky says, and then he leans in and barely brushes his lips against Steve’s. A tease that maybe he wants to keep Steve between the dresser and himself forever. Steve wishes he would, but he leans back.           

“I mean, I’m not complaining,” Steve says. Bucky bites his lip and then he kisses Steve’s forehead. 

This breaks the glass. This makes them sober up and makes Bucky take a step back, and Steve gets it. It’s too domestic, too much like they’re a couple and not two kind-of drunk best friends.           

Steve knows he is in love with Bucky. He has known it since Sarah died and Bucky held him on their tattered couch, and before that. Since they were sixteen and Steve tried not to think about Bucky kissing girls behind the bleachers, and before that. Since they sat in Bucky’s room and made a map for the fucking roadtrip, and before that. Always, forever, since the goddamn dawn of time. So he says,           

“We can’t do this,” because Bucky doesn’t feel the same way. And Bucky says,           

“I know.” So they don’t say anything else, and they go to bed in silence, and Bucky falls asleep but Steve doesn’t.          

So he’s in love with Bucky. So he is, and he has been and will be, and Bucky doesn’t feel the same. An undisputed fact. He thinks about the list sitting in their apartment in New York - reasons he doesn’t want Bucky to move - and he knows. _Number one, I love him. Number one, I am in love with him. Number one, I am in love with him and he doesn’t know and he might move away and fall in love and never come back._

_Number one, I am scared._          

Yes, he loves Bucky and Bucky doesn’t know. For the best, maybe.           

He doesn’t sleep. When he looks at the clock it flashes 5:51 and there’s a tiny bit of light coming in through the window, so he gets up and walks to the back door and onto Clint’s patio. Sam is already standing there. Steve stands next to him, arms on the railing, and says,           

“Bucky kissed me last night.”           

“Yeah?” Sam asks, sounding entirely unbothered by the concept.           

“Yeah. And then I told him that we had to stop, and we went to bed.”           

“Okay. Why are you telling me this, man?”           

“I love him. I mean I - I’m in love with him.”           

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I know.” And, oddly, it makes Steve feel a little better.           

“He doesn’t feel the same way.”           

“You ask him that?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows. Steve shakes his head. “Okay, well, just - make sure you don’t leave anything up in the air when he leaves.”          

“I thought you weren’t playing therapist,” Steve says, smiling a little.          

“I’m not. Just lookin’ out.”           

“Thanks,” Steve says, and bumps their shoulders. After a minute of silence, Sam says,           

“Do you believe in love at first sight? Or, not sight, but - I don’t know. Love at first something.” Steve considers this for a second, then shrugs. 

“Maybe. You gotta know someone a little before you fall in love, right?” 

“Maybe,” Sam echos. They fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, and then he remembers something. 

“There’s no blankets on the couch,” he says. Sam doesn’t look at him. 

“We’re leaving today.” 

“I know,” Steve hums, and looks pointedly at Sam. “You can always come back.” 

“To Iowa? What, corn fields and zombie restaurants and giant gnomes?” Steve lets out a breathy laugh, and then says, 

“Not to Iowa.” Sam doesn’t say anything, but Steve thinks he gets it. They sit in silence until the sun rises fully over the apartment and then they go inside, where Clint is trying his best to make what looks like eggs and bacon. 

“I figured since you guys are leaving today and all that I’d make you a going away breakfast. Except I can’t cook anything that isn’t made in the microwave, so,” he says, giving them his signature nervous grin.

“Well, it’s the thought that counts, man,” Sam says. “I’m sure it’s fine.” It’s a sweet sentiment save for the fact that he physically recoils when Clint puts the bacon on a plate and it’s completely black. 

“Okay,” Clint says. “Well - I’d be a terrible host slash friend if I made you guys eat this shit. Donuts sound good?” He comes back later with two dozen and they’ve gone through nearly an entire box when Bucky wakes up and comes into the kitchen. He huffs something that sounds vaguely like “morning” and takes three donuts and doesn’t make any indication to Steve that he remembers the night before. And Steve, who usually tries his best not to get into the habit of wishful thinking, hopes that just maybe Bucky was more drunk than he’d thought. 

They don’t end up leaving until that night, until the stars of middle-of-nowhere, Iowa are shining over the RV. 

“Thanks for letting us crash your place, man,” Sam says to Clint when they’re all standing outside. He has his hands in his pockets and rocks a little nervously. Steve notices, but he’s pretty sure no one else does. 

“Yeah, of course,” Clint says. He pushes a hand through his choppy hair and smiles. “If you guys are ever back in Iowa -,” 

“Unlikely,” Sam says. Clint grins at him, wide and a little dopey, and when Sam rubs a hand over his head and looks down Steve _doesn’t_ look at him knowingly, but he does smile to himself.

“Well, if you are, just let me know. You have my number,” he says, and then, because he’s Clint, he goes in for hugs. Bucky first, then Steve - solid and warm, he thinks, a good hugger. He hugs Sam last and definitely longer. Steve, again, does _not_ look at Sam when they stop. And then Clint goes back inside, and the three of them step into the RV, and Sam offers to drive because he says he probably won’t sleep anyway. Steve and his sketchbook take the passenger seat, and Bucky knocks out in the back an hour later. 

When they cross the border and leave Iowa, Steve swears he can feel something shift. He doesn’t say anything, and he certainly doesn’t sketch Bucky until he’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open. 

- 

The thing is, they quickly realize, they have no idea at all what to do now. Iowa came in and knocked them off of their plan, even if it wasn’t much of a plan at all. 

The other thing is that there is an elephant in the room, so to speak. Ever since they left Iowa the night before, since they crossed the state line, there’s a cloud of awkwardness that follows them everywhere. It’s in the RV, and the restaurant they stop at for breakfast, and the gas station they go in after that. It’s following them around like the fucking grim reaper. Steve knows it’s there – any conversation they have at all is stiff and short. There’s no banter and there’s no arguments following suggestions of what to do. It’s horrible. He tries to escape from it and draw, but he physically can’t, which is fucking great. 

Sam takes over ninety percent of the driving, and Steve is convinced he’s not sleeping. He spends most of his time in the RV in the passenger seat, listening idly to the music and staring at blank pages in his sketchbook. Sometimes he and Sam will talk for a few minutes, but Sam doesn’t ask him about Bucky and he doesn’t ask Sam about Clint and there’s nothing else to talk about because they are experiencing everything together right now. 

Bucky resigns to the back of the RV, mostly. Sometimes he sits near the front, but he doesn’t talk much. He occasionally says something about the song playing, or a restaurant he sees a sign for. He makes no real attempt to initiate any kind of conversation with Steve, and Steve doesn’t either. 

It’s the most miserable Steve has ever felt. It’s taking them a long time to get through Illinois because they stop more often than they have been to get out of the RV and stop feeling like they’re suffocating – that’s how Steve feels, anyway. In his mind he chalks it up to the three of them starting to get sick of each other. They have been together almost one hundred percent of the time for the last two months – it would wear on anyone eventually. Steve is a little sick of it though. It’s their second day in Illinois and they stop at a café they find through a quick google search for breakfast. They eat in relative silence and then get back onto the RV, and he’s not about to resign himself to weeks more of this.

“Want to go to Navy Pier?” He asks. He looks at Bucky, actually _at_ him, for the first time since before the Iowa incident, as he’s calling it. Bucky’s face lights up. 

“Oh, hell yeah,” he says excitedly. It was something they’d talked about since they were kids. Steve doesn’t really know what is at Navy Pier, but he’ll do anything to get rid of their cloud. 

“Sounds good,” Sam says, and he pulls it up on his gps. 

Navy Pier is very crowded. It’s hot and it smells like fried food and salt coming off the water and there are people running everywhere. 

Steve loves it. 

They have, in truth, a fantastic time. They stop at every booth they see and overload on unhealthy food. In a very big and brave moment for all three of them, they decide to stop at the place selling deep dish pizza. They all order the same thing and they stand off in a little secluded spot they find, because this is very important.

“This is horrible,” Bucky says once he’s swallowed his first bite. He makes a face like he’s just eaten something covered in mold. 

“It tastes like rubber.” Sam says. Steve nods in agreement. It’s like someone put a teaspoon of sauce and cheese on six layers of crust. They discard the disastrous pizza – New York style is clearly superior, a unanimous decision – and Steve and Sam get in line for the swings, which Bucky adamantly refuses to go on.

“You just ate the most disgusting food in the world,” Steve says. “You can do anything. Probably.” It doesn’t work, Bucky still stands off to the side, but Steve and Sam have a great time. They shop around a little more, and at the end of the night, they decide to go on the ferris wheel. Well, Steve and Bucky do. Sam says something along the lines of “fuck ferris wheels, man” and tells them he’s going to go in search of something to eat other than deep dish pizza. As he’s walking away, Steve is almost sure he sees him pulling up Clint’s number on his phone. 

The wait in line is exceptionally and uncomfortably awkward. Steve wishes it wasn’t. He wishes nothing had ever happened in Iowa, even if he doesn’t really. 

“Sam’s a loser,” Bucky says finally, and Steve thanks whatever higher power might be listening that the horrible silence is over. 

“Okay, says the one who wouldn’t go on the swings.” 

“Totally different. I’d just eaten the world’s most disgusting pizza. I might have died.” Bucky insists. Steve grins at him. 

“Big baby.” Bucky sticks his tongue out in response. 

“You wanna get in with another group or, uh, get our own?” Bucky asks quickly, like he’d been working up the courage to do it. Steve shakes his head. 

“Our own is fine,” he says, more quietly than he’d intended. Bucky nods but doesn’t say anything. An air of stiff awkwardness settles itself over them like a blanket again, and Steve sighs. He decides he’d like it a lot if the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him. At least it would give them something to talk about. 

The line seems to drag on and on and on a little more and after what seems like twenty lifetimes of Steve shuffling through speed dating conversation starters in his head, they’re at the front. The attendant asks them how many, single passenger car, takes their money, and they slide inside. And, once again, the insufferable little demon that runs Steve’s brain decides that no, they are not friends, because Steve gets into the car first. This, of course, leaves the entire rest of the car open for Bucky’s choosing, and he takes the space right next to Steve. Which is fine. 

They start to go up, and Steve tries not to think about the fact that he’s never been uncomfortable sitting next to Bucky before but right now he really wishes he were alone. Or, at the very least, that Bucky had done the morally decent thing and sat across from him. Though he’s not sure looking directly at him would make this any easier. And somewhere, something in his strange and unhelpful brain tells him to break the silence, because maybe Bucky is feeling just as stiffly uncomfortable as he is. 

“When was the last time we were even on a ferris wheel?” Steve asks, and it’s something, at least. 

“Oh, man,” Bucky says, then stops to consider it. Conversation is a little strange when he isn’t looking at Bucky, but he doesn’t move. “Junior year of high school? That shitty little fair they threw to try and get everyone excited for school.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says, grinning a little. “That thing almost killed us.”

“For sure. Definitely would have if we had gone on it again. This one is better,” Bucky hums. Steve doesn’t think on that for too long. He tries to get a look out the side of the car to tell how close they are to the top. It’s a little obstructed, but he guesses there are about five cars ahead of them. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, almost a whisper. 

“Why is this so weird?” Bucky asks suddenly. Steve feels like he has come to a crashing halt even though they’re still moving upward. Four cars. 

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugs. “We’re probably just worn out from this trip.” 

“Probably,” Bucky echoes. Steve blinks, glances out the window, three cars. Bucky is sitting just slightly closer than he was a second ago. Steve doesn’t notice that he’s moved closer, too, not until he’s already done it. Their shoulders are touching, barely, a point of contact. It makes Steve feel like he’s found his footing after spinning in circles. It makes him feel sick. 

He tries to wrap his mind around whatever sort of something is happening. The passenger car feels much smaller, suddenly. There is nowhere to go but Bucky, so Steve looks out the window. 

“Steve,” Bucky says. Two cars. 

“Bucky,” he says, almost hesitantly. Bucky says nothing else, no further questions, and then he moves. He doesn’t move across from Steve, just changes so he’s in front of him, kneeling to see out the side of the car. 

“Better view,” Bucky says as a way of explanation, probably because he can feel Steve’s eyes on him. Steve takes a breath, nods his head, one car. 

They move up slightly, slowly, and come to rest at the top. 

“It’s pretty,” Steve says, looking out at the skyline. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, quietly. When Steve turns, Bucky is looking at him. They’re in each other’s space, now. Bucky is in front of him. Steve swallows. He feels like he’s back in the guest room at Clint’s apartment, only this time he’s much more sure of what’s about to happen. Steve glances down at Bucky’s lips, and Bucky parts them slightly like he’s about to say something. Everything.

The lurch down, off the apex of the wheel, is very unpleasant. Bucky falls back on his ass, and Steve almost follows suit but he braces his hand against the window and stops what could have been a most unfortunate situation. Bucky pushes himself up and takes the seat across from Steve. They look out the side of the car on the way down, and that same awkward silence takes the seats next to them. Steve feels sicker than he did before and he feels like he can breathe again and he feels like he can’t wait to shut himself in the back of the RV and never speak to another person again. It’s all very conflicting. 

They decide to get a hotel for the night – it’s close to the pier, so it’s expectedly crowded. Like in Georgia, they get connected rooms, each with one queen bed. Steve pleads with somebody to please have lightning strike down and hit him right where he stands, in the hotel lobby, but nothing happens. 

Sam takes his room, and Steve and Bucky take theirs. And this, truly, is worse than bed after Iowa and the RV for the last few days and whatever just happened on the ferris wheel. This could be the last circle of hell left specially for him to uncover. Bucky showers first, and Steve waits around uncomfortably, sitting on the edge of the bed. He makes quick work of getting to the bathroom when Bucky comes out. 

He blasts the water at full power and sits underneath the stream and he knows he’s crying but it’s easier to ignore when the water from the shower is running down his face, too. He sits there for a long time, thinking of everything he could do. Option one, of course, is continue on like this. Ignore everything that has happened. Act like he doesn’t feel like he’s losing Bucky every second of every day now. Not be surprised when Bucky never comes back from Europe. Maybe die alone, he hasn’t thought that far ahead. 

Option two is to get out of the shower and hope Bucky is still awake. To tell him everything – why he doesn’t want him to leave, his feelings about the kiss, his feelings in general. Tell Bucky that he’s kind of hopelessly in love with him. Get rejected. Not be surprised when Bucky never comes back from Europe.

There’s not an option three. 

Once he’s out of the shower, he gets dressed and walks out to see that Bucky is still awake. For a second, they look at each other. For a second, Steve thinks maybe one of them will say something. But Bucky just looks at him and then gets under the blanket on his side of the bed. Steve does the same, and they turn out the lights.

Steve lays awake for a long time. He thinks about waking Bucky up. He thinks about going to Sam’s room and waking him up. He thinks about sleeping in the RV. 

The time on his phone is almost 6 when he gets out of the bed, not having slept at all. He puts on his shoes and creeps out of the room and goes out to sit on the bench outside the front doors. He scrolls aimlessly through the contacts in his phone for a minute, then clicks a name close to the top. 

“’Lo?” Clint says groggily, picking up after about six rings. 

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Steve says. 

“’S fine,” Clint says. “Lucky was about to get me up anyway.” 

“Okay.” 

“What’s up?”

“I don’t really know why I called you, to be honest.” 

“Me neither,” Clint hums. “Something you couldn’t talk to Sam or Bucky about?” He doesn’t say it rudely, just curiously.

“Can I tell you something?” 

“Sure.” 

“Bucky and I aren’t married. We aren’t even dating.” 

“Yeah,” Clint says simply. 

“You knew?”

“Sam told me. You know, the food at my restaurant really isn’t good enough to try and scam a few bucks off your check,” Clint says, a smile in his voice. Steve snorts. 

“Yeah, tell me about it.” 

“So you aren’t married,” Clint repeats. “Not even dating.” 

“Nope.”

“Alright.” 

“I’m in love with him,” Steve says. It’s an answer to a question Clint didn’t actually ask. 

“He know that?” 

“Unknown,” Steve breathes.

“Have you told him?”

“I’m not really looking to get rejected and abandoned by my best friend since first grade, so, no.” Steve lets his head fall back against the bench.

“You don’t know for sure that’s what would happen,” Clint points out. 

“No,” Steve says, “I guess not.” 

“You’re taking away the chance for anything to happen if you don’t tell him,” Clint says after a second. Steve groans. 

“That sounds too much like something Sam would say. You guys are talking too much.” Clint laughs and it sounds a little nervous. “Okay.” 

“Good luck,” Clint says, and he sounds genuine. Steve stays outside for a while longer, and he decides. If he gets back upstairs and Bucky is awake, he’ll tell him. He’ll lay it all out on the white hotel room, all cards on the table. 

Bucky is awake, and he looks a little relieved when Steve opens the door. 

“Where were you?” He asks. He doesn’t sound mad. “I was worried.” 

“Sorry,” Steve says. It’s the most genuine thing he’s said to Bucky in a while, he thinks. “I needed some air.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky nods. They don’t say anything else. By ten, they’re all checked out and back in the RV. 

- 

They’re making pretty good time, Steve guesses, though he doesn’t really know where they’re going. They had never fully decided on what to do in Indiana, mostly because it seemed like there wasn’t anything _to_ do in Indiana. So they’re just driving. 

It is, admittedly, a little awkward. Bucky is driving, tapping his fingers along to whatever songs are playing from where he has his phone plugged in. Steve is sitting in the passenger seat, facing the windshield. He decided it was probably best to sit not facing Bucky so he wouldn’t start mindlessly drawing him again. And it’s a little weird. They haven’t actually said anything to each other since they left the hotel room in Illinois. He tries to tell himself it’s because they’re driving and sleeping at alternate times - which isn’t a total lie. Sam is behind them somewhere, hopefully sleeping. Steve hasn’t said anything to him because he tries his best not to be in the business of being a hypocrite, but he has definitely taken over driving more often than not. 

He does finally pull out his sketchbook, deciding he’ll just draw whatever comes to mind. The problem with this plan is that the only thing coming to mind is Bucky. Bucky’s hair and his profile and the way he looks when he laughs and his hands and his mouth and - 

Steve slams the cover shut. Bucky glances at him, so quick Steve is almost not sure it happened. 

“Sorry,” he says. Bucky shrugs. Steve doesn’t say anything else. He gets up, finally, and walks toward the back of the RV. Sam is stretched out on one of the sorry excuses for a bed, and Steve sits down next to him. Sam adjusts, throwing his legs across Steve’s lap. 

“Get tired of not talking to him?” He asks. Steve rolls his head back and winces when it hits against the wall. 

“It, I mean, it shouldn’t be this painfully awkward,” Steve states. “We’ve known each other our whole lives.” 

“That’s probably why it’s so awkward,” Sam offers. 

“I can’t listen to you. You’re sleep deprived.” 

“Am not.” Sam protests, and Steve gives him a pointed look. 

“Maybe he doesn’t remember it.” Steve says. “We were both technically drunk.” 

“Mhm.” Sam hums. Steve doesn’t know how it’s possible to make an ‘mhm’ sound so smug. He hates Sam, even if he doesn’t hate him at all. 

“Or maybe he doesn’t _want_ to talk about it. Maybe he regrets it.” Steve says, more thinking out loud than actually making conversation. Sam shrugs. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Okay,” Steve says. “And if he didn’t remember what happened in Iowa, that doesn’t negate what happened like, literally less than two days ago, right?” 

“Wh – what the hell happened two days ago?” Sam asks, and Steve remembers that, oh yeah, he had called Sharon instead of waking up Sam. Because he’s a good friend, thank you very much. 

“Uh.” Steve says. Sam raises an eyebrow at him. “Well. We definitely almost kissed on the ferris wheel at Navy Pier, but nothing besides that. Except an extraordinarily uncomfortable night sleeping in that hotel room.” 

“And you just,” Sam looks at him straight on, “haven’t talked about this?”

“If he wanted to talk about it he’d come talk to me.” Steve insists, and Sam rolls his eyes but he doesn’t push it, and they fall into comfortable silence. Steve doesn’t stop thinking, which he is sure Sam knows, and Sam doesn’t fall asleep, which Steve is going to bring up when the RV slows down a little bit. Steve feels them moving off to the side before coming to a complete stop. He doesn’t remember passing any exit signs, but he wasn’t really paying attention. A second later, Bucky walks back to where they are, with his classic and often seen I-fucked-up expression. He looks at them and for just a second something on his face shifts, and it’s gone as quick as it came. 

“So,” Bucky says. “There’s a possibility that we’re out of gas.” Sam sits up. 

“Buck,” Steve says, “when was the last time you got gas?” Bucky considers this for a second. 

“Illinois.” Bucky says. “Definitely when we got to Illinois.” 

“Oh my God,” Steve says, and Sam says, 

“I’m going to die in this RV with only the two of you. Oh, God.” 

“Do we know where the closest gas station is?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “About, uh, ten miles that way.” He points in the direction of Illinois. 

“Oh my God.” Steve repeats. 

“See, I know that this looks like it’s my fault -,” 

“It is,” Sam says. 

“Okay, well, rude,” Bucky protests. Steve tries and fails pretty miserably to hold in his laughter. 

“This isn’t funny,” Sam says. 

“It kind of is. The only state where we couldn’t find one single thing we wanted to do, and we run out of gas. There’s some kind of humor in there.” Bucky grins at him and it makes Steve’s heart skip. 

“There’s no humor,” Sam says. “Alright. What do we do?” 

“You’re asking _us_?” Bucky asks, disbelief in his voice. “Sam, we’re barely adults.” 

“You’re both college graduates.” 

“Means nothing, really,” Bucky says. Steve laughs a little. 

“Well, it’s gonna get real hot real fast in here with no AC,” Steve says. Bucky raises his eyebrows and Steve rolls his eyes at him, fighting a blush. At least he’ll have something to blame it on. “Not sexy hot, asshole, heat hot.” 

“You’re both college graduates,” Sam says again, but this time it’s like he’s asking himself if that’s true. 

They ultimately decide to move outside because even if it’s just as hot, there could be wind – there isn’t, but Steve thinks their optimism is admirable. He sits down with his back against the RV, sketchbook in his lap and opened to a blank page. 

“You are way too calm about this,” Sam says, looking at Steve, then at Bucky, “and _you_ are having way too much fun.”

“C’mon, Sammy -,”

“Don’t call me that.” Sam says. Bucky ignores him. 

“Road trips are about the spontaneity! The adventure!” 

“Running out of gas isn’t part of the adventure,” Sam says, and Bucky says, 

“Yes it is.” Steve shakes his head, turning his attention back to his paper. He starts sketching something, the vague outline of a person. He doesn’t think of it as anything more than that.

Their relative stationary-ness is nice for about a half hour, until Steve gets too hot and Sam looks like he’s about to walk into the interstate traffic and Bucky gets bored. Steve can tell Bucky is bored, because even though he has long since sat down on the ground beside him, his leg is bouncing and he has a particular look on his face that Steve knows very well. After a couple more minutes, Steve closes his sketchbook, because he’s too hot now to focus on drawing. He lets his head drop back against the side of the RV. Then, with no warning, Bucky shifts – closer than is strictly necessary – and drops his head against Steve’s shoulder. Steve feels like he’s on fire and he blames it on the heat. 

“No one is going to stop,” Sam says, breaking Steve out of his thoughts. “We’re going to die here because we ran out of gas in the middle of fucking – wherever we are. Where are we? Seriously, what towns are even in Indiana?” He crosses his arms across his chest and sits down on the other side of Bucky, and Steve knows what is about to happen before it does. Bucky takes a breath. 

“Gary, Indiana, Gary, Indiana, not Louisiana, Paris, France, New York, or Rome,” he starts singing, and it takes all of Steve’s willpower not to break into uncontrollable laughter. “Gary, Indiana, Gary, Indiana, Gary, Indiana, my home sweet home.” 

Steve starts laughing, because how can he not, and Sam reaches over and pops Bucky on the back of the head. It makes Steve laugh harder. 

“Ow!” Bucky exclaims, reaching up to the spot Sam hit.

“Don’t sing at me,” Sam says, and then they all start laughing. Steve doesn’t really blame everyone passing by them – if he saw them, he probably wouldn’t stop either. 

But someone does. A little silver junker that doesn’t even look like it should be on the interstate, really, pulls off and stops behind the RV. The guy who gets out of it looks a little older than them, on the shorter side with glasses and curly hair. 

“You guys need some help?” He asks politely. 

“Please,” Sam manages to get out through his laughing fit. “We ran out of gas because some people are bad at things.”

“Oh, so everything in the world is my fault?” Bucky asks, wiping at his eyes. He’s laughed so hard he’s crying, and that almost makes Steve break down again, but he tries to calm down in front of their angel sent from the interstate. 

“Yes,” Sam says. The guy laughs a little and wrings his hands.

“Well, there’s a station not too far back. I have a gas can in my trunk, I think, so I can go get you some,” he says. “Oh. I’m Bruce, by the way.”

“Bruce,” Steve says, “you are the nicest man in the world.” They get together enough money to pay for gas to at least get them back on the road – they make Bucky give more, since it is technically his fault they have to do this in the first place. Bruce takes it, promises he’ll be back as soon as possible, and then he takes off. 

They get back on the road relatively quickly after that; it doesn’t take very long for Bruce to get back with the gas and Steve nearly considers kissing the ground he’s walking on but he thinks that might be a bit dramatic. They do thank him profusely and he assures them it’s not a big deal and then he and his junker go on their way.

Back in the RV, Sam stakes his claim as driver before Steve or Bucky have even opened their mouths. Steve shoots him a look but says nothing. He ends up going to the back of the RV and stretching out on one of the beds – he thinks about sketching and decides against it. He’s trying not to think about it. 

Bucky comes back to find him a few minutes later, sitting on the edge of the same bed. He has his arms crossed and he looks small and very uncomfortable and Steve hates everything about it except that it’s Bucky. 

“Are we – are we good?” He asks after a minute or two pass in silence. 

“What?” Steve says quietly, more taken by surprise than anything else.

“Everything just feels kind of weird and forced and I don’t know why – well, whatever. Anyway. I just wanna make sure we’re, y’know. Good.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “We’re good.” 

“Okay,” Bucky says. He almost looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Steve thinks about Navy Pier and he doesn’t say anything, either. “So what have you been drawing?”

“You hate art,” Steve says.

“I do not.”

“Yes you do,” Steve laughs. “You spent our entire trip to the MoMA talking about how you didn’t understand any of it and you didn’t know why people couldn’t be more straightforward. And also about how you hate art.” 

“I don’t hate your art,” Bucky says, and Steve wants to kiss him. He thinks about it for a second, leaning up to where Bucky is and pushing his hair away from his face and kissing him, full stop, no beer and no ferris wheels. And then he remembers that Bucky doesn’t feel the same way. Anything that has happened on the trip has been weird and circumstantial and induced by outside sources like beer and ferris wheels and not Bucky’s actual feelings. 

“People, mostly,” Steve says. He can act normal. He can act like nothing ever happened on this godforsaken, maybe a horrible idea of a trip. 

“Me?” Bucky teases, and Steve panics for just a second.

“Yeah. And, uh, Sam. People we see at our stops. Maybe I’ll draw Bruce,” he lies, because he hasn’t drawn Sam or people they’ve seen in any states and he probably isn’t going to draw Bruce. Bucky never needs to know that. 

“Show me some of them. When we get back home and you’ve got them all pretty and polished, of course,” Bucky grins. 

“Of course,” Steve says. The subject moves on, to what they’ve done so far and what states they have left and what souvenirs they still need to buy. It is, despite the start, the most normal and least horribly awkward conversation they have had in days. And, well, if they end up falling asleep in the same bed, that’s nobody’s business. 

They stop for breakfast the next morning and figure that rather than test their luck anywhere else in Indiana, they’ll drive out and hit their next stop – Kentucky, which is odd and makes no sense to Steve when they could get home faster if they went through Ohio. 

“There’s nothing to do in Ohio, I promise,” Sam says. 

“Have you ever _been_ to Ohio?” 

“No, thank God. Clint just said we should avoid it at all costs.” Steve nods and only smiles a little bit. 

“Kentucky it is.” 

“Is there anything to do in Kentucky?” Bucky asks, and they decide they’ll find out when they get there.

On the way out of Indiana, they pass a sign for a giant Santa Claus statue.

“We aren’t stopping,” Sam says, but they do. He takes a myriad of pictures of Steve and Bucky in front of it in increasingly stupid poses. A passing stranger offers to take one of all three of them, and Sam begrudgingly agrees. 

“I’m never going to see another giant statue of anything again,” Sam says when they’re back on the RV. Steve sends the picture of all three of them to Clint, and he sends back sixteen smiley emojis. 

- 

What happens, really, is that they decide to stop for gas. 

Sam wants to avoid another stop at the side of the road, which is very reasonable. They also need snacks – they still have money, plenty, but buying out a gas station is cheaper than going to a restaurant for every meal. It also cuts the arguing in half because, _‘if we stop at McDonald’s one more time I’m going to kill you, Bucky’_ and _‘pick something we don’t have in New York’_ are getting really old. 

So, gas station. They split the cost and get extra money for snacks, and Bucky draws the short straw and has to go do all the buying. 

Sam and Steve move out of the RV to stretch while Bucky is inside the store, and Steve can feel Sam’s eyes boring into the back of his head. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Steve says, trying to break the tension. Sam doesn’t take the bait. 

“I don’t know what the hell is going on with you and Barnes right now, but you’ve gotta fix it.” 

“We talked about it,” Steve says. 

“Not enough, obviously.” 

“I can’t just say it. It’s not – what would I say to him? ‘Hey, we kissed and then we almost kissed and I’m in love with you, just thought you should know, bye!’” Sam rolls his eyes. “It isn’t that easy.” 

“I know that. But suck it up, Steve. You’re miserable, you have been since we left Iowa. So has he.” 

“No he hasn’t,” Steve says. He knows things have been awkward, he does. He knows it’s impacting Sam’s trip, too. But Bucky has only been weird because Steve has. He knows that, too. 

“He has,” Sam repeats. “I don’t care what you say, just talk to him.” Steve sits on these words for a minute - he knows Sam is right, especially since the closer they get to New York the less time he has before Bucky leaves for Europe. And he knows that if he doesn’t say anything before Bucky leaves he’ll regret it, but he doesn’t even have an idea of where to begin. “ _Hey Buck, I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers and you kissed me and now you’re moving to Europe and breaking my heart”_ probably wasn’t going to cut it. 

“Fine,” Steve says. “I’ll talk to him.” 

“Good.” 

“But if -,” Steve starts, and then stops and takes a breath. “If he hates me or he never wants to talk to me again or something like that then I’m hiding in the back of the RV for the rest of the trip.” 

“That’s fair,” Sam says. “But you’re being dramatic. I’m going back in. Good luck, man.” Steve nods at him and looks up - Bucky is striding across the parking lot and he is so, so beautiful and Steve has been breaking his own heart all along. 

“Can we talk?” He says when Bucky is about to climb back into the RV. Bucky stops mid-step and takes a breath like he knew this was coming. After a moment, he says, 

“Is this about what happened at Clint’s?” Steve’s brain starts going a hundred miles a minute because _fuck_ , he had hoped Bucky was just drunk enough that night to think it was a dream or something. 

“I - yeah. Well, no, not just that, but yeah,” Steve rambles. “I didn’t think you remembered that.” 

“Of course I -,” Bucky starts, and cuts himself off. “Yeah, I remember.” Steve feels like he might pass out, and he can’t talk about this right now, so he says, 

“I’m pissed that you’re moving to Europe.” 

“You’re - huh?” Bucky says, squinting his eyes in confusion, and he’s fucking _cute_ standing there like an idiot and Steve is so, so fucked. 

“I’m happy for you, Bucky, you know that. This is your dream, and I don’t want to do anything or say anything that makes it seem like I’m not happy for you. Because I am. But I’m pissed.” 

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Why?” 

“I’m just - I’m gonna miss you, jerk. You’re like. My person, or whatever. Right? Like, I have Sam and I love Sam so much,” Steve says. Something he can’t quite place flashes over Bucky’s face. 

“Right,” Bucky says, voice tighter than before. 

“Right,” Steve repeats. “And I have Nat and Sharon, too, and that’s all fine. But you’re my best friend and I -,” he cuts himself off. He can say it to Sam, to himself, to his reflection in the mirror, but this. Saying it now makes it real. 

“I’m gonna miss you too, you know that,” Bucky says. “I’m not leaving forever.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I know. But sometimes I get too in my head and I - I made a list. It’s at home. In a drawer. I freaked out the night you told me and Sam, so I made a list.” 

“Of course you did,” Bucky says, tone a bit lighter. “What was on the list?” 

“Reasons I don’t want you to move to Europe,” Steve says. Bucky cracks a little grin at that, and the feeling in Steve’s stomach eases up a little. “Stuff like, I’m gonna miss you and you’re my best friend and you’re the constant in my life.” 

“Sam?” 

“Well, yeah, Sam too. But mostly you.” He pauses, and Bucky doesn’t say anything, so he continues. “It helped a little. But I still hate thinking about you moving. And I think I - I know why, kind of. And then, um,” he stops. 

“And then?” Bucky urges.

“You kissed me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “I thought. I’m sorry.” 

“Bucky, stop apologizing. I’m not mad.”

“But you,” Bucky stops for a second to breathe. “You didn’t want me to, I don’t think. We were kind of drunk and we had just talked about our fake-relationship that you made up as a joke and so maybe it was just in the moment. I shouldn’t have done it.” 

Steve feels like he’s been knocked out. Bucky never wanted to kiss him at all, he didn’t mean it, Steve should have known that. It was a joke, fake relationship taken too far, that’s all. He lets out a shaky breath. 

“I’m not mad,” he repeats, because he can’t say anything else. 

“Okay, then. I’m confused. Because you keep saying you aren’t mad but after we kiss we agreed we couldn’t do it and the dating thing was all a joke and you’re in love with Sam anyway, so-,” 

“I’m - what?” Steve interrupts, taken aback. He’s pretty sure he didn’t hear that right. 

“In love with Sam,” Bucky says again. Steve is too shocked to say anything. “I just mean, maybe the reason you’ve been so upset about me moving is because you wanted to tell me that. And it’s fine, really. I’m happy for you. And for Sam. You guys are -,” 

“Wait, Bucky -,” 

“- good together, I think, and you’ll make -,” 

“ _Bucky -,_ ” 

“- each other happy, and you’re my best friend so I’m really happy for you, I am, and -,” 

“Bucky!” Steve yells, finally cutting him off. Bucky stops mid-sentence and looks at him. Steve still can’t read his face, so he takes a deep breath. “I’m not - I don’t know where you got that idea.” 

“You said it!” Bucky insists.

“Wait, what? No I didn’t.” 

“Yeah, just a minute ago. You said you love him.” Steve shakes his head. 

“I _do_ love Sam. Just like I love Nat and Sharon. I’m not - I’m not in love with Sam.” 

“Well, you guys have just been closer for the past little while, so. I don’t know. Are you sure?” 

“Am I sure?” Steve repeats.

“Are you sure you aren’t in love with him? Because, okay, when we ran out of gas and I came and told you guys it kind of seemed like I was interrupting something.” 

“That – what? We were just talking, Bucky. I’m not in love with Sam.” 

“Okay,” Bucky says after a moment. “Okay, well then I don’t understand. Because I know you’ve been, I don’t know, upset and it seems like more than just being upset over me moving. And you told Clint we were dating, which kind of seems like a cover-up for something, and you haven’t really been talking to me since the kiss. And then it got worse after the thing at Navy Pier. So I just want you to know that if you _do_ like Sam like that -,” 

“I don’t,” Steve says. 

“Well if you _do_ , I don’t mind. Really, I - I think it’s good. And -,” 

“Bucky,” Steve says forcefully. “I’m _not_ in love with Sam!” 

“But -,” 

“I’m in love with _you,_ you dumbass!” Steve shouts. Fuck. That was not the way he wanted Bucky to find out, but it’s out, so he rolls with it despite a shaky voice and nervous hands. “I’m in love with you, I have been since we were teenagers, okay? Real, actual, no fake relationship love.” 

“You’re what?” Bucky asks, eyes wide. And this, Steve thinks, this is the real fight. This isn’t going to end well, but he can’t put the words back. And he doesn’t try to. 

“I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time and I guess I was just too scared to say it. You dated girls and then you dated boys and then you didn’t date anyone for a long time. And I know you - you don’t feel the same way, and that’s fine. I really need to hear it, though, because the fake relationship thing was just… me being selfish, I guess. You’re leaving and I wanted to tell you but I couldn’t so I figured, hey, might as well see what it’s like even if I can’t ever have the real thing, right? And then you kissed me, and it really kind of fucked everything up because it was great and for a second I really thought maybe you felt the same way. Maybe, somewhere deep down, you were in love with your scrawny best friend who gets into fights and can never leave well enough alone and wheezes from walking up a few flights of stairs. Because all I’ve ever really wanted is to love you and be loved back but throwing you under the bus with this fake dating thing was wrong and I’m sorry. And if that kiss didn’t mean anything, if you were just fucking around then -,” 

“Steve, shut up,” Bucky says, and then he’s stepping forward and he’s in Steve’s space and his hands are cupping Steve’s cheeks and he leans in and kisses him. 

It’s better, it’s so much better than kind-of drunk kisses in Clint’s guest bedroom and almost-kisses on ferris wheels above the water. Bucky’s lips are soft and warm and his hands move down to Steve’s waist and yeah, Steve thinks, if his life were a movie this would be the final shot. 

Steve moves his hands, one on Bucky’s back and one tangled in his hair. Bucky runs his tongue along Steve’s mouth and Steve happily complies, parting his lips and everything is Bucky, Bucky, _Bucky._  

They break apart and Bucky leans their foreheads together and Steve can’t help but laugh. 

“We’re in a gas station parking lot in the middle of fucking Kentucky.” 

“I’m in love with you,” is Bucky’s response, and Steve’s heart skips ten beats. 

“And you aren’t fucking with me, right? Because I’ll never talk to you again.” 

“Do you remember that party sophomore year when we played spin the bottle and your spin landed between me and Emily Rhodes?” Bucky asks. Steve nods,

“Yeah. Emily was my first kiss. God, that was embarrassing.” 

“We left right after that. I told you I was sick and we went back to my house.” 

“I remember,” Steve says softly. “What even made you sick? You never told me.” 

“Watching you kiss Emily Rhodes,” Bucky says simply. “It kind of broke my fifteen year old heart.” 

“You’ve been in love with me since we were fifteen?” 

“Yeah, a little. I didn’t know it until college, when you stayed in Brooklyn and I moved away and I felt awful until we moved back in together.” Steve grins.

“We’re fucking idiots, you know that? We could have sorted this shit out years ago without any road trips or moves to Europe or zombie themed restaurants in the middle of fucking nowhere in Iowa.” 

“Please,” Bucky says. “When have we ever figured things out the easy way?” 

“Yeah, you have a point,” Steve says, and takes a deep breath. “You know, I never told you because I didn’t think you’d want me, skinny and short and sick all the time. You could have had anyone we went to high school with.” 

“None of them were ever even second behind you, not for me. It was always you,” Bucky says, and Steve leans in to kiss him before he starts crying. And then he remembers something. 

“Wait. If you thought this whole time that I’ve been in love with Sam, why did you almost kiss me on the ferris wheel?” Bucky ducks his head, very clearly trying to hide a blush. 

“That just sort of happened. I thought, I guess, if I only got one more shot that I would take it. Wasn’t really thinking about how it might have ruined your relationship with Sam that I made up in my head. Sorry.” 

Steve grins and he leans in and kisses Bucky again. Because that’s something he can do now. 

“You know we’ve been out here forever, right? Sam’s gonna kill us.” Steve says when they break apart again. They fully step back from each other and adjust, and Bucky takes Steve’s hand in his. 

“No, I don’t think so. He hasn’t said anything yet, so he’s busy.” 

“How much do you wanna bet he’s talking to Clint?” Steve asks. Something happens, like something clicks in his head, and Bucky grins back. 

“I think we gotta help them. It’s, like, our duty as a gay couple.” 

“No way. Let them figure it out on their own,” Steve says, then stops. “Couple, huh?” 

“I mean, unless mutual declaration of love and heavy making out in a parking lot means something else now,” Bucky says. “Too good to be my boyfriend, Rogers?”

“Obviously,” Steve grins.

“Punk,” Bucky mutters, but he’s smiling. Steve is, too. And, for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s real. They walk back onto the RV just as Sam is getting off the phone, and he rolls his eyes when he sees their intertwined hands. 

“Took you guys long enough,” he says. “I think you guys owe me for damages for living with you as two ridiculous adults who can’t communicate to save their lives.” 

“I’ll give you twenty dollars if you drive so I can get some sleep,” Bucky says. 

“I’ll take it,” Sam says, starting the RV. “Where to next?” Steve figures they’re already a few days overdue on getting back thanks to their prolonged stop in Iowa, so he shrugs. 

“You choose,” he says, and Sam grins and pulls onto the highway. 

-

Sam drives them out of Kentucky, since it turns out that there’s fuck all to do there, and they’ve since crossed the border into Tennessee when Bucky asks where they’re going. 

“Dollywood,” Sam says like it’s obvious.

“Okay,” Bucky says, “why?” 

“Because,” Sam says. 

“That isn’t in the plan,” Bucky chides, and Steve can see Sam roll his eyes from his spot in the passenger seat. 

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that about five percent of what we’ve done on this trip was in the plan,” Sam remarks. 

“He has a point,” Steve says, turning to look at Bucky, who scowls at him. Steve grins and turns back towards Sam. “He’s just pissy because he doesn’t like roller coasters.” Sam starts laughing so hard that Steve is surprised he doesn’t lose control of the RV. 

“Oh, man,” he says once his laughter dies down. “That’s great. Wow. Don’t worry, buddy, you can hold your boyfriend’s hand if you get too scared.” 

“Maybe I will,” Bucky says in a voice like he’s trying to be defiant. It sends Steve and Sam into hysterics and Bucky declares that he’s going into the back of the RV and never coming out again. 

“Baby,” Steve says, shaking his head. 

“What?” Bucky asks. 

“Oh, I wasn’t being sweet. I was calling you a baby. I’m insulting you.” 

“I’m never talking to either of you again after this trip,” Bucky says very seriously. 

“That’s fine.” Sam says, and Bucky leans close to the front of the RV and tries to smack the back of his head. 

“No fighting the driver,” Steve scolds. “I don’t want to die.” 

“Buckle up, bitch,” Sam says, glancing at Bucky for a second. “We’re going to Dollywood.” Bucky groans but Steve can tell he’s fine, and he willingly hands over the seventy dollars to get in even if he does complain about it. 

“Twenty bucks says he’s out before the third roller coaster,” Sam says while they’re waiting on Bucky to come out of the bathroom. 

“Oh, you’re on,” Steve grins. He’s pretty sure Bucky will make it through at least three roller coasters if they break them up with other rides, so they head towards something promising a twenty story drop first. 

“If anything happens to me while we’re here I want it on record that all of my earthly possessions are to be split between Clint, Nat, and Sharon,” Bucky says while the ride is going up. 

“You own four things,” Sam says, and Bucky lets go of his harness long enough to flip him off. 

Halfway through their day Bucky has successfully gone on two roller coasters - a standard one and a wooden one that even had Steve a little worried - and they decide to get lunch at one of the food stands. This turns out to be a miraculously bad idea, because Bucky throws up almost as soon as they step off of the eagle coaster. He sits out the rest of them but he does go on some big swing ride and the teacups with Sam, where they spin so fast that someone watching next to Steve asks if they’ll be okay.

“Hotel sound good for the night?” Sam asks as they’re leaving the park a few hours later. Steve and Bucky both nod and they end up at one called Margaritaville. It’s a little pricey but Steve figures, fuck it, the trip is almost over anyway. They’re already up in their rooms - two, because Sam refused to share a room with them ‘just in case’ - when Steve realizes just what that means. 

He guesses they’ve got about a week and a half before they’re back in New York if they don’t make anymore unexpected stops, and that puts their arrival around the beginning of August. Which means, in the grand scheme of things, he has just under a month with Bucky until he leaves. It isn’t fair, he thinks to himself, sitting on the very edge of a bed that isn’t his. Unfamiliar. It isn’t fair that they just figured everything out and now Bucky is going to be leaving. Moving to another _country_ , of all the fucking things. Steve’s hands are shaking on the white comforter. 

He would never ask Bucky to stay. He would never ask Bucky to give up his dream for him, even if existing away from him makes Steve feel like he’s tearing apart at the edges. He would never ask, because Bucky would do it. Bucky would stay if Steve asked him to. It’s a sort of heavy reality and Steve braces himself on the bed and tries to focus. He’s still a little shaky but he can see the bedspread, the dresser, the ugly carpet and the curtains and his shoes. One, two, three, four, five. He can feel the bed and the floor, the blanket and the material of his shirt. He hears the water turn off in the bathroom and starts taking deep breaths because Bucky will ask, so he tries to collect his thoughts into a list. One, Bucky is leaving. Two, they only have a month. Three, Europe is far away.

“Steve?” Bucky says when he comes out of the bathroom. His hair is dripping onto the carpet and he’s only wearing sweatpants and Steve tries to focus on his hot new boyfriend instead of his impending panic attack. And it almost works. “What happened?” 

“It’s almost August,” is what Steve finally says. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but he moves in front of Steve and crouches down on the floor, and he takes Steve’s hands in his and he waits. Steve takes a second to breathe deep, then says, “I’m sorry.” 

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks. 

“I was just thinking about how long we have left on the trip. And how we only have a month or something before you leave because we spent so much time not talking about it. Us. Whatever.” Steve says, voice only a little shaky. “Yeah.” Bucky moves from the floor to the bed so he’s sitting next to Steve and keeps hold of his hand. They’re close enough that Steve could rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder, so he does. 

“So we have a month,” Bucky says. 

“So we do,” Steve says. He waits for a second, collects his thoughts, thinks about the list sitting in his sock drawer back home. Bucky doesn’t say anything or push Steve to say anything, which he appreciates, because he needs as much focus as possible to even form his next words into sentences. Finally, he sighs and says, “Are you going to meet someone else in Europe?” 

“I’m going to meet a lot of new people in Europe,” Bucky says, like he doesn’t know what Steve means. 

“No bullshit, Buck. What if you find someone else in Europe? Someone you love more than me?” 

“I’m never going to find someone anywhere that I love more than you, Stevie,” Bucky says softly, rubbing circles on Steve’s hand with his thumb. 

“How do you know that? Because, listen. You’re my best friend. And you’re more than that now and I can get by on my own, but -,” 

“You don’t have to,” Bucky assures him, and it sounds so familiar. “Steve, I’m not ever gonna find anyone else because you’re it. Okay? You’re it for me. I don’t want anyone else.” Steve smiles to himself and he doesn’t know quite what to say, so he lifts his head up and kisses Bucky, firm and sweet, and he hates to be a cliche but his head and his heart both know that Bucky is his home.

“We’ll be okay,” he says when they break apart. It isn’t a question.

“We’ve never been the best at distance but we’re pretty damn good at making things work,” Bucky says. “Yeah, we’ll be fine.” 

Steve goes to take a shower and when he gets out Bucky is already passed out in the bed, long hair splayed wildly over the pillows. Steve climbs in next to him and curls into his side, and his last thought before sleeping is how nice it is that this is finally his reality. 

The next day they check out around noon and they spend a few hours shopping around in the places next to the hotel. Sam drags them into the crime themed museum down the street and it’s actually pretty fun, subject matter inside considered. Steve takes over driving and they end up at an aquarium where Bucky blows god knows how much money on bizarre superhero slash aquarium themed t-shirts for everyone they know.

“That’s so ugly,” Sam says when Bucky lays them all out and points out the one he’s going to send to Clint. “He’ll love it.”

They’re driving around looking for somewhere to eat when Bucky sees a building that’s built to look upside down and makes them stop and go inside. It’s absolutely ridiculous and it’s absolutely intended for kids, and they have a great time. They also make an unnecessary but very fun detour to something called State Street on the border between Tennessee and Virginia and they send ridiculous pictures of themselves standing in two places at once to Nat and Sharon and then to Clint. They end up stopping for burgers on their way out of Tennessee, and Bucky is on his second one when he says, 

“Doesn’t this make you miss our favorite zombie restaurant?” 

“Absolutely not,” Sam says immediately. “You couldn’t pay me to eat there again.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Bucky insists. 

“I am begging you to start chewing and swallowing your food before you speak,” Sam says pleadingly. “I’ll literally pay you.” Bucky grins around another bite of burger and promptly starts choking on it. 

“Wow. That was hot.” Steve deadpans once Bucky stops coughing. 

“Yeah,” Sam says. “If you died next time? I’d be into that.” 

“Steve, defend my honor,” Bucky says. 

“I’m good,” Steve replies. Bucky starts pouting and Sam starts throwing french fries at his head and it takes longer than it should for them to get back on the road. Sam offers to drive when they’re finally ready, and Bucky shakes his head. 

“You’ve done ninety percent of the driving since we left Iowa. When was the last time you slept?” 

“Last night,” Sam says. It’s almost convincing. 

“Yeah, well, I took a nap earlier which makes me legally more fit to drive this recreational vehicle than you,” Bucky says. 

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Steve shrugs. “Come on.” He takes hold of Sam’s arm and drags him to the back of the RV as Bucky turns up the volume on whatever pop song is playing. Steve sits on the couch and Sam lays down and throws his feet across Steve’s lap. They sit in silence for a minute or two and Steve is thinking about what to say when Sam speaks up. 

“Whatever it is, just say it. I can hear you thinking from over here.” 

“You have to sleep, Sam.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Sam,” Steve says seriously. “I know you haven’t slept more than a few hours since we left Iowa. I wasn’t sleeping, either.” 

“I’m fine. I don’t - whatever it is will stop eventually. I’m not depressed or anything like that. I just can’t sleep.” Sam explains. Steve considers this for a moment. 

“When was the last time you actually slept? Like, for more than two hours.” 

“I don’t know, man. Probably the night before we left.” 

“New York?” Steve asks, slightly bewildered. 

“Iowa,” Sam says. “I don’t know why I’m not sleeping. I’m just not.”

“I’m not - I can’t really speak on this, I know. But I think that maybe you do know,” Steve says. Sam is silent and Steve doesn’t say anything else. It isn’t his place to try and make Sam do anything, but he thinks that it’s part of his good friend contract to try and help a little bit. 

“Maybe,” Sam says eventually. Neither of them say anything else, and Steve doesn’t know how long they sit until Sam finally does fall asleep. He doesn’t know when he falls asleep either, but he’s woken a few hours later by Bucky shaking his shoulder. 

“Babe, can you drive for a while?” Steve nods and he’s not awake enough to comment on the pet name so he makes a note of it in his head. Bucky goes back to the bed and passes out almost immediately and Steve gives himself a minute to wake up and figure out where they are - somewhere in Virginia - before he starts driving. The music is low and he feels good, more calm than he has the entire trip. They’ll be home in a few days, a week, and then he and Bucky will get to actually settle in and be boyfriends. 

Boyfriends. The word is still foreign to him in relation to Bucky, but he’s getting there. His mind flashes back to what they talked about before - being okay despite the distance - and he feels better about it. The feelings are still there, of course. The pain that comes with Bucky leaving, the worry about him finding someone else, but that’s getting easier to wash away. He can hear Bucky’s voice in his head saying _you’re it for me_ , and that’s enough. 

He’s been driving for a couple of hours and just crossed into West Virginia when he decides to stop and get them all breakfast. He goes to the first place he finds and orders pretty much the entire menu and starts driving again, and Bucky comes and takes up the passenger seat. He drifts in and out of sleep while they drive and when he wakes up for more than ten seconds Steve glances at him and grins. 

“You know there’s a bed in the back that’s intended to be slept on?” 

“Missed you,” Bucky mumbles, and Steve feels his face flush. 

“I bought breakfast if you’re hungry.” 

“Mmkay,” Bucky says, yawning. “I’m gonna change first. Should I wake Sam up?” 

“No, let him sleep. He can warm it up.” Bucky nods and walks back to the back and Steve is mindlessly humming to the music when he comes back up and sits down. 

“There’s biscuits and bagels and -,” he stops abruptly when he glances at Bucky, who is holding Steve’s sketchbook, flipped open to a drawing of himself. “Uh.” 

“When did you do this?” Bucky asks, and Steve focuses very hard on the road in front of him. 

“You weren’t supposed to see that. How did you-?”

“It fell out of your bag. I was moving it and tossed it onto the bed and it fell out - Steve.” 

“When we were leaving Iowa. I drew them when we were driving that night. Most of them. I just. I didn’t think this was ever gonna happen,” he says, taking one hand off the wheel and gesturing between them. “And I knew we didn’t have tons of time so I - you weren’t supposed to see them.” 

“Why not?” 

“I didn’t think you felt the same way, Buck, I was never gonna show them to you if we weren’t dating.”

“Come with me to Europe,” Bucky says. Steve doesn’t crash the RV, to his credit, and he pulls over at the next rest stop. 

“ _What?_ ” He asks, staring at Bucky, who is grinning like a madman. 

“I’m serious. Come with me.” 

“Bucky, I -,” 

“Steve, I love you. And I’m not the best at actually saying things and making them sound all romantic so I’m just gonna be blunt. I’m in love with you and I don’t want to have to be away from you for that long. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, especially since we talked at the hotel. You’re it. This is it. So come with me.” Steve feels like the entire world is off of it’s axis and spinning around underneath his feet. 

“Bucky, that’s crazy. I want to be wherever you are but I - the apartment, my job. Bucky,” Steve repeats, and just looks at him. And for the first time Steve sees how Bucky _really_ looks at him, like he hung the stars in the sky, and he can’t help but cry a little. 

“Oh, fuck. What’s wrong, did I say something? Fuck,” Bucky says quickly, and Steve laughs. 

“I just love you. And I’m a fucking sap, I guess.” Bucky takes Steve’s hands in his and Steve steadies his breathing. 

“Steve,” Bucky says carefully. 

“I’ll come with you.” Bucky goes back to a grin and pulls Steve in for a kiss that he readily returns. 

“I love you, punk,” he says, and Steve laughs again. 

“I love you, too, jerk,” Steve says. “How long is a while?” 

“Oh, uh. Since I found out about the internship, basically,” Bucky says sheepishly. Steve grins widely and Bucky leans in and kisses him again, and then says,

“Okay. I’m actually starving. Where’s the food?” Steve points to the bags around the same time Sam joins them, mid-facetime with Clint, who very excitedly agrees when Bucky and Steve tell him to come see them in New York before they go to Europe. Sam hangs up about two minutes later and throws a piece of his bagel at the back of Steve’s head before he pulls out of the rest stop.

“You’re going with him?” He asks simply. Steve nods and Sam smiles back knowingly, and then turns his attention to Bucky, who is eating an inhuman amount of food again. Steve laughs to himself as they start bickering, and he pulls them back onto the highway and towards New York. When they get back a few days later, he expects it to feel a lot more like coming home than it does. And then he remembers he was home all along.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, sam and clint stan dolly parton and yes, bucky does know all the words to gary indiana from the music man, thank you. 
> 
> if you liked this please let me know! come find me on [tumblr](http://teamcaps.tumblr.com/) or [twitter!](https://twitter.com/_julield)
> 
> and, just in case anybody is interested: i'm currently taking commissions. [here's](http://teamcaps.tumblr.com/post/182229689998/writing-commissions-hey-yall-i-know-i-made-a) info on that
> 
> thank you so so much for reading <3


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